


Yes Chef

by OhNoHello



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 73,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoHello/pseuds/OhNoHello
Summary: Dedue is head chef at the high end restaurant HKF and the kitchen is his sanctuary. He's content to make and serve the food for clientle and his boss, Dimitri, whom he owes his whole career to. He's content to leave the food he knows and loves forgotten by the rest of the world. Until they hire a new line cook, Ashe, and Dedue is forced to rethink everything.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 233
Kudos: 249





	1. The New Line Cook

**Author's Note:**

> I fell into this ship. I wrote this dumb AU. no regrets.
> 
> This fic was heavily inspired by [ this fanart ](https://sworn-2-secrecy.tumblr.com/post/189733376456/three-times-ashe-says-yes-chef-and-three-times)by sworn-2-secrecy
> 
> It's just. . . hnnnnggg

The kitchen was Dedue’s sanctuary. It always had been. Behind walls, separated from the rest of the world, in the heat and the energy and surrounded in the medley of appealing scents, Dedue was at home. 

He stood in the center of it, steadily cutting delicate slices of soft tangerine. The sun was just peaking in through the high windows, bringing the first rays of light into his kitchen. The soft glow of the overhead light was no longer needed, as far as Dedue was concerned, but he had found focus and was not going to stop any time soon. 

There was no need to come in so early. Nor to stay so late. But those were his moments. With everyone gone it was just him and the kitchen. Freedom to do as he pleased. 

It was what he had in his life, since he was young. Get up, cook, go home, sleep, repeat. A machine to make food and make it well every time. Ever since he was a boy working his father’s restaurant. When Dimitri had bank rolled him through culinary school. And now in in this kitchen. His reasons had shifted and changed, but it was the life he lived. 

And he’d have it no other way. 

That morning, it was simple prep. Anyone could’ve done it, the staff Dimitri had hired, hell even the porter, but Dedue found simplicity in such a mundane task, focus in repetition. It was what he had been craving that morning, so it was what he did. Because the kitchen needed it. 

The sound of chatter came before their owners. The side door opened and the overhead lights flickered on. Dedue winced at the harsh light, but otherwise did not address the women who entered the kitchen. Simply made the next cut and moved the gently sliced fruit to its proper container. 

“Oh, good morning Dedue,” Mercedes said, as if she didn’t know that he’d already be there. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

“Morning!” Annette said, just to be polite. “Anyways, I swear I’m telling the truth.” 

“I believe you,” Mercedes said. “But you didn’t notice?” 

“I was _busy_ ,” Annette whined. “And its not like he makes that much noise in the first place. I might as well have been talking to a wall.” 

“But all day?” 

“All day! Hey, hey Dedue.” Annette leaned against the counter. He gave her his attention without looking up from his food. “So can you believe this? Felix, my dear sweet gentle Felix. Was gone all day yesterday. And he tells me its fencing?” 

Dedue spared her a glance and went for the next pre-peeled tangerine. 

“Fencing,” she said slower and leaned in. “All. Day. And he expects me to believe that.” 

“Mm,” Dedue commented. 

“Can you believe it?” Annette threw her hands in the air. “Just lie and tell me you’re fishing. Thats more believable.” 

“The part I can’t believe is ‘dear’ ‘sweet’ and ‘gentle,’” Mercedes said, stepping into her office. 

“Hey,” Annette said. 

The high end restaurant of HKF had barely been opened a year, but had already made a name for itself. The location Dimitri had picked on Seiros Ave was notorious for rotating restaurants. A new one would open and almost as quickly close. Whether it was the neighborhood or just bad luck, it seemed that new food establishments simply would not stick. 

_‘But it already has a perfectly good set up and kitchen,’_ Dimitri had argued. _‘Why let it go to waste?’_

There had been a bare bones staff upon opening, a mad rush and exhaustion at the end of every service, but the blood sweat and tears had paid off. HKF seemed on its way to being a permanent fixture. 

Prodigy is what the papers had called HKF’s head chef. Dedue just wanted to cook. 

Annette had been there at opening. One of two waitresses, worked to the bone, but filled with a fierce determination. Dedue had seen her asleep on her feet and still serve with a smile on her face. It was by pure nepotism that she got the job, being the wife of Dimitri’s (arguably) childhood friend, but she was one of the reasons why HKF was still open. Long after the other waitress had burnt out, she was still there. And she put her foot down, that she was the end all of who was on wait staff. She had found most of Dedue’s kitchen line and even their porter. 

As well as Mercedes.

“Oh Dedue?” Mercedes said, poking her head out of her office. “We need to have a chat later about deliveries. I’d like to find other options if need be, our current vendor upped their prices.” 

“Quality shouldn’t be sacrificed,” Dedue said solemnly, moving on to limes. 

“Yes, but neither should the bottom line,” she said. “Remind me, we need to talk later.” 

“I’ll be sure to.” 

As much as Dedue considered himself robotic when he was prepping and on the line, Mercedes was the machine. Annette, of course, was the one who brought in her friend. They had needed an accountant and Annette just so happened to know one. Mercedes had come off as delicate, with her willowy disposition and soft tone, but she was ruthless. She stayed on as not just financials but marketing and sales. She controlled the intake and output, she was probably the one who had called Dedue a prodigy. She would never admit it, far too polite to, but she was the end all be all of HKF, despite Dimitri’s ownership status.

“Another restaurant is opening up down the road,” she said. “We need to keep ahead of the competition. I think getting a critic in might help.” 

“I’ll be sure to be ready,” Dedue said, wiping down his paring knife. “Just so long as its not another interview.” 

“You’re going to have to get used to those eventually,” she said. “You’re becoming the face of HKF.” 

“Dimitri is still far better at those kind of things.” 

“Yeah but you make the food,” Annette said. “Which draws in the customers. Which gives us more business.” 

She bat her eyes in just the right way to show off the well hidden bags underneath them. 

“Speaking of,” she said. “I found you a line cook.” 

“Run them by Dimitri.” 

“No, I’m running him by you,” she said. “He’s coming in today. Just audition him or whatever, like what I do with my staff.” 

Dedue grunted again, looking for anything else to prep. He reached around Annette for the mesh bag of onions and wiped down any fruit juice from his cutting board and washed the citrus scent from his hands.

“But trust me, you’ll love him,” she continued. “He studied under Lonato, he’s really good.” 

“Lonato?” Dedue looked up from peeling the skin off his first onion. 

Lonato had run some of the best restaurants in the city and was well known in not just their community, but in the food circuit in general. The general population knew his name and went to his restaurants just to try some of his food. It was the standard chefs aimed for. 

He had tragically passed some few months ago and his absence had rocked the cooking community. 

“I didn’t know he had apprentices,” Dedue said. 

“Just the one,” Annette said, bumping the counter as she rose to standing. “Don’t worry, I’ve already run his credentials by Mercedes. He’ll be in before service.” 

“Yes, but I would still appreciate it if Dimitri interviewed him,” Dedue called after her. 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll let the stiff know.” 

Dedue didn’t care much for the casual way she referred to, essentially, his boss, but he let it slide and went back to chopping onions. 

The morning fell back into quiet for a peaceful 5 minutes until the other chefs came filing in. 

Naturally the porter, Cyril was in first. He had probably been waiting in the parking lot, standing at the bus stop, and waiting for the exact minute he was supposed to be on time. He walked in and immediately got to work, muttering a to do list under his breath. He shot Dedue a quiet glare, seeing the basic prepping already having been started. 

The boy took his work very seriously. 

Linhardt and Caspar were next in. Linhardt already had a coffee in hand, following blindly behind Caspar, who was booking it to his station like he was on fire. Linhardt yawned. 

“Morning chef,” he said through the yawn. 

He put his coffee down on his work station and began pulling his long hair up behind a bandana. As far as Dedue was concerned, he was the only person allowed to do that. The man needed his coffee. 

“Yeah, hi chef,” Caspar said, as if noticing him for the first time. 

Pots clanged as he gathered his equipment on to the stove. So much for the peace and stillness of the morning. But Dedue loved this part too. 

Ingrid was the last in. Dedue’s sous chef took her spot next to him and nodded professionally. 

“Chef,” she said. 

“Good morning,” he said back. 

Ingrid and Dedue had met in culinary school. It had been a tense relationship at first. She had made up her mind about him out of sheer prejudice. She had made her decisions and opinions of Dedue long before they both spoke and it peppered in every interaction with the woman. 

But class after class and working together, she softened to him, even liked him. She begrudgingly respected him. And he respected her in turn. She was brilliant, whip sharp, and creative. When Dimitri gave him the role as head chef, Dedue had absolutely no reservations as to who he wanted by his side. 

“Any ideas for fish on the spring menu?” she asked, sharpening her knives. Each pass of the knife through her block was a danger to anyone who came near. 

“We keep the ahi tuna,” Dedue said. 

“If Mercedes will let you,” she said. 

“Ah,” Dedue said. “She’s been talking to you too?” 

“Yeah, because I listen to her.” 

Ingrid gave Dedue a pointed look and he hummed under his breath. 

“It sells,” he said. 

“Its fatty,” Ingrid complained. 

“It sounds like you already have your own ideas.”

Dedue glanced out of the corner of his eye and Ingrid huffed. 

“Halibut,” she said. “A green sauce would be flashy.” 

Dedue stopped slicing and stared into the middle distance. He thought on that for a bit, instantly coming up with sides that would pair nicely and would give the fish an appealing plating, his mind reeling with ideas. 

“Spicy or herbal?” he asked. 

“Herbal,” she said. “Would fit with the rest of the menu better.” 

“Hm,” Dedue mused. “Could have a soy base.” 

“Not citrus?” 

Before Dedue could respond, Caspar called from the other side. 

“Hey boss,” he said, waving a wet ladle. 

Dedue looked to him, but Caspar was looking at the restaurant facing door. Dedue followed his eyeline and saw it cracked open. Dimitri has poked his head into the kitchen. 

“Good morning,” he said, but his focus went to Dedue. “A minute of your time?” 

“Yes sir,” Dedue said, wiping down his blade and gently placing it on the counter. 

“You don’t have to-” Dimitri groaned then stopped. He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Apologies,” Dedue said and took the door from his boss. 

Dimitri shook his head. It was useless trying to correct him. There was no way Dedue would be able to talk with Dimitri like he was just another person. He wasn’t. 

Dedue owed him everything. 

The main dining room to HKF was a stunning exercise in interior design. Draped in dark woods and cool greys, plant life adorning the walls, elegant ornate drop lights the size of Dedue himself dangling daintily from the ceiling. Large posts dotted the hall in equally distant, load bearing locations. Dimitri had made use of the back lot, reducing the parking in favor of having an outdoor seating area. With the warm weather coming, it would open again soon. It was Dedue’s favorite part of the dining floor. The music was quieter there and gas powered fire pits kept the area warm. 

Dimitri took a seat at one of the 4 tops. Dedue didn’t follow suit until Dimitri indicated the chair across from him.

“What is it sir?” Dedue asked. 

“What is. . .” Dimitri shook his head. “How are you Dedue? Doing well?” 

“Yes,” Dedue said and hesitated. He looked off to the side. “And. . . and yourself?” 

“Yes I’m good, Dedue,” Dimitri said, with raised brows and a small nod. “Okay. Well. I guess business then.” 

As much as he did, Dedue visibly relaxed. 

“Yes,” Dedue said. “We’ve started developing the spring menu.” 

Dimitri took out a small note pad and clicked a pen against the table. He begin jotting down notes. 

“Anything to look out for?” he asked. 

“Nothing in concrete yet, I was just working with Ingrid on some ideas,” Dedue said. “We’ll keep two thirds of the menu as it is now, switch out some of the winter dishes.” 

Dedue paused, watching his boss scrawl out notes in a chicken scratch only he could read. 

“Is there anything you would like, sir?” he asked. 

Dimitri looked up from his hunched over position. 

“I’m not the chef,” he said. 

“Yes, but you’re the owner.” 

Dimitri rolled his eyes and sat up a little straighter. 

“Uh. . . we maybe we could switch up the steak cut?” 

Bad idea. That was a staple. 

“Very good.” 

Dedue could make it work. 

“Oh and a different pasta dish? Something light?” Dimitri lit up as he said it.

Already in the works. Dedue nodded. 

“And maybe.” Dimitri drummed the pen against the table. “Fish stew? Is that a thing?” 

Dedue had a recipe, deep within his memories. Something from long ago. Something he had loved when he couldn’t see over the counter at his father’s restaurant. 

Something that didn’t belong there. 

“I could develop something that might work,” Dedue said. A chowder or a miso based broth. He was clever enough to fill Dimitri’s request and still make it suitable for their clientele. 

“I trust you,” Dimitri said with a smile. “Alright, fill out the rest of the menu and we’ll work with Sylvain for pairings. We’re getting the tap line switched out next week so think you can have something then?” 

“Of course.” 

“Anything else?” The drum of Dimitri’s pen seemed more like a demand than an idle gesture. 

“Annette has found a potential line cook,” Dedue said. 

Dimitri snorted, jotting down another note. 

“Of course she has,” he said. 

“He’s coming in today,” Dedue continued. “I’ll assess him, but I’d like for you to meet him, just in case.” 

“Mmhmm.” Dimitri finished his note with another flourish. “That all?” 

“Mercedes said something about more press coverage,” Dedue said. He hesitated before suggesting. “Perhaps a critic?”

Dimitri gave him a pitying smile. He rose to his feet. 

“A good idea,” he said. “I’ll see what I can drum up. There’s someone I’ve been meaning to get in anyways.” 

“Very good,” Dedue said, standing. 

Dimitri gave him one last wan look. 

“And I’ll make sure Mercedes doesn’t put you in any more interviews,” he said. 

Dedue breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you sir.” 

Dimitri opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, smiled, and shook his head. He waved something off and turned to the front door, already going for his keys. 

“I won’t be able to be in until tomorrow to meet this line cook,” he said. “Hold down the fort?” 

Dedue nodded. He waited until Dimitri had left and even then saw his car drive away before returning to his domain. 

The kitchen was in full swing. Caspar was already deep in sauces and stock, his station already developing the tell tale signs of spillage and over enthusiasm. Linhardt was moving at his typical leisurely pace, setting out all of the equipment he’d need for prep. Ingrid was already deep in focus, prepping meat with seasoning and marinade. Dedue breathed the already mounting scents and rejoined the frey. 

It was a couple of hours before Ingrid looked up and sneered. 

“Sylvain’s in,” she said. 

Through the glass, Dedue could see the bartender make his way to his bar. Annette followed behind him, looking very much like she was chastising him. 

“Service will start soon,” Dedue said. “Where are we with fish?” 

Ingrid huffed and doubled down on her fillet. 

Roughly as the first order came in, Annette burst through the kitchen door, trailing a young man behind her. Dedue held the first order in his hand, ready to bark out to which station to do what, when he stopped. Annette held the man by the arm, his jacket clutched in her fist. He was wide eyed and frazzled, holding onto the strap of his messenger bag. 

“He’s so sorry he’s late,” Annette said. 

“I’m sorry,” the man echoed. 

“He’s sorry,” Annette said with a furious nod. 

Dedue slowly looked from the head waitress to this cook then back again. Annette pushed him forward, the man still holding his strap like a safety belt. 

“Ashe, this is Chef Molinaro,” she said. “Dedue, this is Ashe Ubert.” 

This Ashe’s eyes were wide and a nervous smile threatened the corner of his lips. He sputtered for half a second before he shot a stiff hand out. 

“Hi,” he said a little too loud, but still muffled under the din of the kitchen. 

Dedue continued to stare this man down, slowly moving his eyes to the outstretched hand, then back to a face full of nerves. 

“Ingrid,” he shouted. 

“Yes chef,” she shouted back. 

“Take the pass.” 

“Yes chef.” 

Dedue signalled to Ashe. 

“With me,” he said. 

“Ye-yes chef,” Ashe said, slipping his bag up and over his head. 

“Go get ‘em,” Annette said, slapping Ashe somewhere below his back. He jolted but otherwise didn’t react to her, his focus on the task ahead. 

Dedue found the only quiet corner in the kitchen, closest to Mercedes’ office. Ashe scrambled around the metal counter, squeezing in between it and the wall, to be in Dedue’s kitchen proper. Dedue knew he was much bigger and more imposing than most, but in that cramped space, it was made apparent just how slight Ashe was. 

Dedue reached underneath the metal top and placed a cutting board and a single knife in front of the wannabe line cook. 

“We’ll test your knife work,” Dedue said, reaching for the nearest vegetables to chop. He found a cucumber and placed it on the cutting board. “Half slices.” 

“Peeled or. . .,” Ashe trailed off. 

One stern look from Dedue and a raised brow got the man moving. Ashe picked up the knife, split the cucumber, and began slicing it with machine gun efficiency. Dedue watched as even slices seemed to apparate from Ashe’s blade before reaching for the next thing. He plonked a full onion within Ashe’s vicinity. 

“Dice,” he commanded. 

Ashe quickly finished off the cucumber and went for the onion without so much as a second glance. He was barely half way through when Dedue slid a stem of basil in front of him. 

“Mince.” 

It went like that for a solid 5 minutes. Dedue would place another food stuff in front of Ashe and he would work his way through it. Until there was a small mountain of chopped fruits, vegetables, and herbs, all cleanly separated, on the countertop. Ashe wiped the knife on his shirt, looking up at Dedue for the next poor product for him to cleanly slice through. He waited, placing the knife gently down on the cutting board, and it was roughly then when Dedue noticed his hands were shaking. 

Dedue stepped away and returned with a feeble looking salmon that they chose not to use for service. He slapped it down in front of Ashe and handed him a filleting knife. 

“Break this down,” he said. 

Immediately Ashe got to work. His hands were no longer shaking and he moved with a clean grace. He hunched over the fish, gently peeling the cuts away from each other, the bones out in a smooth motion. And when he was done, neat squares were displayed on the cutting board, as if from a cooking magazine. 

“I need tweezers for the pin bones,” Ashe said. His hands were shaking again. 

Dedue took in a deep breath and crossed his arms. 

“Give me two herbs as a flavor combination,” he said. “Chicken.” 

Ashe stood up straighter, meeting Dedue’s eyes. 

“Lemongrass and ginger,” he said. 

“Berries.” 

“Lavender and rosemary.” 

“Halloumi.” 

“Tumeric and dill.” Without hesitation. 

Dedue looked out over his line again. He really needed to get back to work. But with Annette’s vouch and he did study under Lonato. . .

Dedue reached over the counter to where a row of aprons were lined up outside of Mercedes’ office. He tossed one to Ashe. 

“This isn’t a yes to the job,” he said. “Its a test. Get on the line and get through service.” 

“Yes chef,” Ashe said and couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to break through. 

“Caspar!” Dedue called and the line cook’s head popped up from his work. “Get Ashe up to speed with the menu.” 

For a moment, Caspar looked like he might complain. Instead he threw down his knife and stomped over. 

“Come on,” he said, grabbing Ashe by the back of his neck and lead him over to his station. 

Ashe stumbled and those once graceful steady hands fumbled over knotting his apron behind his back. Dedue watched him carefully, still wary of letting the man on his line, but shook his head and went back to his rightful spot. 

Service picked up. It was a mostly full house on a week night and should have been routine, but orders came in quicker during peak hours. Dedue called them out one by one and received a ‘yes chef’ from his staff and times when needed. Ashe was quick to come out from under Caspar’s guidance, given his own station and sides as a responsibility. The first plate he brought up and waited in front of Dedue for approval. Dedue almost didn’t notice. 

“Go,” he said and Ashe jolted, rushing back to his station. 

A few missteps here and there with plating, but it was to be expected with a new menu. But falling head first into a strange new service, this line cook adapted quickly. 

They slid into the quiet of service and were wrapping up the last few tables. 

“I can jump onto deserts,” Ashe offered, as the orders were piling up. 

Dedue eyed him, over eager and ready to prove. He nodded to Ingrid and she took him aside, roughly showing him the guides to cakes and pudding. There wasn’t a dedicated pâtissier, not yet. Mercedes had initially be brought in for the role, Annette raving about her baked goods, but she admitted up front that she wouldn’t be able to keep up in the kitchen. Instead they used her recipes. 

Annette came into the kitchen. She nudged Dedue in the side as he watched Ashe carefully pipe cream onto the plate. 

“He’s good right?” she asked. 

“Mm,” Dedue grunted. 

“Ha,” Annette said, knowing that was as much of a yes as she was going to get from the man. 

The night dwindled down and the kitchen closed. Patrons still milled about the restaurant, enjoying the last dregs of Sylvain’s good work. The staff plus Ashe cleaned down the countertops, Caspar going harder than the rest to erase all evidence of his exuberance. 

Dedue dismissed them, as he always did, to place the last finishing touches himself. 

To be alone in his kitchen again. 

The chefs lined out the door, talking amicably. Ashe went for the front room, looking exhausted, and pulling his bag up and over his head. 

“Ubert,” Dedue said, catching his attention. 

Ashe stopped, door open, and looked over his shoulder. 

“Be here on time tomorrow,” he said. 

A brilliant smile split his face. 

“Yes, chef.”


	2. Specialty Items

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers had been a secret self indulgence. He had liked the smell, he liked looking a pretty things. 
> 
> They reminded him of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, makes a schedule to stick to, to best update my stories spaced out in a timely manner
> 
> Also me, throws the schedule out the window LET'S ASHEDUE NOW

Most mornings, Dedue adhered to his rigid schedule. Get up, stretches, quick breakfast, go to work. There he would stay until well after closing. Some days he’d get a work out in, but most it was right back home. 

Then there were the other days. The days in his garden. 

Dedue had been scrutinous when choosing his apartment. It was at the edge of the city, within walking distance to HKF, but most importantly, it had a yard. A yard he could brutalize and turn into a garden. He had found a small house for a reasonable rent, given the city prices, and a lax landlord who allowed him such luxuries. 

To foster such a flourishing harvest, Dedue gave it daily attention. But certain days required just something a little more. And as the sun peaked over the edge of his roof, Dedue was on his hands and knees, harvesting the vegetables he had taken such care to grow. He plucked vine tomatoes and cucumbers. The squash was coming in nicely as were the sprouts. In the small box by his window were the fresh bounty of herbs and spices that could be grown in the dirt. 

That was one half of his garden. 

The other was special. 

Dedue carefully plucked a pepper from its stem and placed it in his basket. For good measure he took a second. The tubers that were growing in the wanting dirt would be ready soon. As were the carefully curated hybrid mushrooms. Just by the back door was another box of herbs, this one filled with names that couldn’t be found in any grocery market. Silently, Dedue mourned his temporary living situation. An olive tree would have been nice. 

He rose to his feet and wiped off his sweats. He took his filled basket under his arm and headed back inside. He took a moment to look over his flowers. 

Flowers had been a secret self indulgence. He had liked the smell, he liked looking a pretty things. 

They reminded him of home. 

Dedue stopped to inspect his favorite flower. It was called a rose by people who didn’t know what else to call it, but it wasn’t a rose. It grew tall with 3 perfect long petals and a curled stamen. Shades of different colors, depending on the strain. Dedue had a small collection of pale blues and purples. He toyed with the tallest, growing in defiance of its confines. It had a splash of red in its center. A mutant among its brethren. Dedue carefully touched the petals. 

It would need to be removed soon. 

He sighed and let his hand flop to his side. That was always a sorrowful task, but it had to be done. 

This rose always grew too big for its box. 

He stepped inside to get ready for the day. 

It was mid week and a perfect day to play with his food. The service was slower, his staff meandered into work a little later, and Dedue took that time to experiment. Or reminisce. He walked to work, bag full of ingredients, mind a buzz with what he planned to do. 

Dedue was planning out the first steps of the unwritten recipe as he approached HKF. Mercedes was already walking up to the side door that lead to the kitchen, key in hand. 

“Good morning,” she said softly. “You’re here a little late.” 

“And you are here early,” Dedue said. 

“Not as early as some,” she laughed behind one hand and pointed to the nearly empty parking lot. 

Dedue half expected to see Cyril, waiting to come in just in time, but he wasn’t at his usual post. Instead, a lone beater car sat parked at the far end of the lot, half hidden by the outdoor seating area. It wasn’t immediately recognizable yet, but Dedue knew who the car belonged to. Mercedes laughed and held the door open for Dedue. 

Ashe Ubert stood in the center of the kitchen, his back to them. He was muttering to himself, moving his hands and leaning side to side as he went, mimicking the motions of cooking without any pots or pans in front of him. 

It seemed that first day was a fluke. The new line cook had been coming in earlier than most of the staff, just behind Dedue. Silently, he would assist in prep, only asking for guidance here and there, but for the most part he kept to himself. 

Or at least, away from Dedue. He took most of his direction from Ingrid, staying at his supposed station in those early hours, only glancing over now and again. It might have been due to his imposing height or the mere fact that he was now Ashe’s boss, but Dedue didn’t question the line cook’s hesitation. 

Mercedes placed a hand over a silent smile and watched as Ashe opened up the dead oven to put in an imaginary skillet. 

Dedue cleared his throat. Ashe yelped, jumped in place, and the oven slammed shut. 

“Chef!” he shouted. “I. . . um. . .” 

“What are you doing?” Dedue asked. 

“Well I uh. . .” Ashe’s eyes darted from his empty station back to his boss. “I just. . I need to f-f-familiarize myself with s-some of the motions through the kitchen? Economy of space and ef-efficiency?” 

Dedue placed his heavy back on the counter with a heavy thud. 

“How did you get in?” he asked. 

“Oh. Well. Um. Annette. Sh-she gave me a key?” Ashe seemed to shrink further and further into his form, a wholly different personality from when he was cooking with confidence. 

“Oh be nice, Dedue,” Mercedes said as she passed, on her way to her office. “What's one more overachiever in this kitchen?” 

Dedue grunted, but otherwise accepted it. She pat his back as she walked past, leaving Dedue alone with a frightened looking line cook. Dedue sighed. 

“As long as you are here, you might as well start with prep,” he said. 

Ashe stood up a little straighter. 

“Yes, chef,” he barked with all the enthusiasm of a mid service rush and immediately rushed to the fridge to fetch vegetables. 

It had only been a couple of days, but Ashe had proven himself to be quite the overachiever. Aside from the early mornings and the late nights, aside from familiarizing himself with the flow of the kitchen and constant questions to the staff, he was quick to learn the menu. On his first weekend rush, he had excelled enough that he could jump on meats to assist Ingrid. He had all the enthusiasm of Caspar, the work ethic of Cyril, and Annette’s curiosity. He was definitely an asset to have in Dedue’s kitchen. 

Even if he was invading on Dedue’s alone time. 

Dedue almost shifted gears and would have joined Ashe in prep, but he glanced slowly over his shoulder. The slight man was so engrossed in his work, he surely wouldn’t notice. Dedue pulled his bag closer just in case. He took out the goat leg and began to clean it. Once done, he worked on carefully chopping up the seasoning. He sliced off a quick strip of his pepper, handsomely large for its breed, and tasted it. A little earthy, but it was exactly as it should be. 

“Chef?” Ashe asked timidly. 

“Hm?” Dedue didn’t look up from his work. 

“The veloute, do we make that ahead of time?” 

“No,” Dedue said. “That is made shortly before service and replenished during. The stock is made ahead of time, however.” 

“Ah alright.” 

The sounds of Ashe’s clean knife didn’t resume and Dedue could feel his hesitation. 

“Does the. . . does the saucier take care of that?” he asked. 

“We don’t have a dedicated saucier,” Dedue said. Then after a pause. “Caspar usually takes those responsibilities.” 

“Sorry, I’m just so used to Lonato’s kitchen,” Ashe said. 

“A kitchen like that would have a full staff,” Dedue said. “HKF is aiming to that standard one day, but for now we make do with what we have.” 

“Mm,” Ashe hummed amicably. He chopped a few more slices, his knife moving slower, and Dedue waited for the follow up. “I-I would like to know how to make HKF’s veloute. Just in case I’m called to do so?” 

Dedue could have told him that Caspar would show him, he could’ve put it off for later, but what kind of head chef would he be if he didn’t help his line. 

Dedue gently placed his knife down. 

“Alright,” he said and stepped away from the cutting board. 

He went for a sauce pan and caught Ashe staring past him. Dedue followed his gaze to the goat leg and spices. 

“Sorry,” Ashe said, jumping back and holding up his hands. “I just. . . it smells really nice.” 

Dedue wasn’t sure how to react to that. He felt exposed, having someone else take notice of his private work. A thank you lodged in his throat and instead he nodded. 

“Is it for the new menu?” Ashe asked, a polite smile on his face. 

“No,” Dedue said. He fiddled with the saucepan on the stove, as if finding the exact position. “Its a test.” 

Not wholly a lie. Slightly altering a recipe for a nostalgic dinner was still testing out variations. Even if it the results would go no further than Dedue. 

“Oh,” Ashe said, still not looking away from the cutting board. “I’ve never seen a pepper like that.” 

Dedue glanced at his neat array. 

“Its a specialty item,” he said. 

They stood in silence, Dedue wondering if his curt answers would have the same effect they normally did and encourage Ashe to end the conversation, or if Ashe’s curiosity would win out. He finally looked from the pepper up to his head chef, a shaky smile on his face. 

“Can I try it?” he asked. 

Dedue’s brows rose. 

“Its just. . . I pride myself on my palate,” Ashe fumbled. “Lonato made sure I expanded my flavor knowledge and I . . . well I would like to continue that. Its not often that I see a new ingredient.” 

Dedue sighed and glanced back at the pepper. 

“It is very spicy,” he said. 

“I can handle my spice,” Ashe countered. 

Dedue considered it. It took him a while to grow those peppers and he had a lifetime of building up a tolerance. No one had ever asked about his ingredients before and he kept them to himself. But Ashe’s sheer determination amused Dedue. 

“You have been warned,” Dedue said, going for his knife. 

Ashe tried to hide his excitement and failed. Dedue could see why he got along with Annette. He cut off a small piece and handed it to the line cook. 

“Careful,” Dedue warned. 

Ashe popped it into his mouth and considered the flavor. He let it rest in his mouth, as any good chef would, silently inspecting it for its intricacies in flavor, texture, and possibly the incoming spice. He swallowed, still smiling. 

“Thats interesting,” he said. “It almost has a sour quality to it, like a citrus.” 

“Mm,” Dedue said and waited. 

“Its a little bit like a–” 

Ashe stopped. His eyes widened. 

“Oh,” he said and coughed. “Well I guess theres the spice.” 

“Mm,” Dedue grunted again and headed for the fridge. 

“Thats,” Ashe coughed. “Thats not so bad.” 

“It builds,” Dedue said bluntly. He returned with a carton of milk and pulled out a glass. 

Ashe kept coughing, fighting against the sting that now lived on his tongue, and held his throat. Dedue handed him the glass of milk. 

“Th-thank you,” he said, taking it in shaking hands. Tears began to well up at the corners of his eyes and his cheeks were slowly flushing red. “Oh that keeps building.” 

“Yes,” Dedue said. 

Ashe downed large gulps of the milk and went through the whole glass in the blink of an eye. He was still suffering when done, hand still at his throat and still shaking, but he stood under his own power. 

“H-how did you intend to use it?” he managed to eke out. 

Dedue was impressed. He had half a mind to tell the cook to sit and rest, but he doubted Ashe would do so. 

“In a brine,” Dedue said. 

Ashe’s face lit up. 

“Thats a great idea,” he said. “And you’d put the leg in there?” 

Dedue nodded. 

“Whats the. . .” Ashe doubled over to cough then quickly straightened himself out again. “Whats the rest of the flavor profile going to be like?” 

He was very clearly eyeing the board and the medley of spices he didn’t recognize. Dedue took a spoon, gathered a few slivers of what he had chopped up, and handed it Ashe. 

“If you would like,” he said. “And if your palette hasn’t been destroyed.” 

Ashe tried to scoff, but couldn’t manage much more than a wheeze. He still took the spoon and tried it. 

“Oh wow,” he said. “Oh that’s lovely.” 

“Mm.” Dedue didn’t know what kind of discomfort he was feeling. Was it the attention his private meal was getting or the sheer fact that he was under so much attention? Or was it the praise. 

“How salty will the brine be?” Ashe continued on, regardless of anything that might hinder him. 

“Quite,” Dedue said. “The salt will flavor most of the meat, which is why I need to have the profile I created to subdue it.” 

“It’ll be very complimentary, I think,” Ashe said. Shaking hands went for another glass of milk. “I’d like to try it.” 

That might have been too far. This was for Dedue. This was his and no one else’s. This ritual, the quiet of his kitchen, his special ingredients from his garden. They belonged to him. 

But no one had ever asked before. 

Ashe’s hands shook, the gallon was too heavy, and some of the milk splashed. Ashe cursed under his breath. Dedue took the glass and the jug from the struggling man. 

“The meat needs to rest in the brine for the day,” Dedue said. “I’ll be roasting it tonight, if you wish.” 

Ashe beamed. Then doubled over again. 

“Yes,” he said between coughs. “I can stay late.” 

“You have proven as much.” 

Dedue handed him the glass and Ashe drank from it gratefully. He glanced at his head chef from the corner of his eye, seeming to smile into his glass. 

A soft knock interrupted them and the kitchen door opened tentatively. A green haired girl poked her head in. Flayn, one of the two faces that ran the grocery that supplied HKF. They always delivered early in the morning and Dedue always had suspicions that Dimitri had bribed them to bring the best ingredients. 

“Chef Molinaro?” she asked lightly. “Delivery?” 

Dedue nodded and Flayn propped the door open. Two large delivery drivers were already working on unloading HKF’s haul. Dedue caught sight of Cyril waiting at his usual spot. Dedue waved him over and pointed to the delivery, indicating he should get to work. 

Caspar and Linhardt filed in just in time to help restock the kitchen, just as Mercedes was attempting to work out new terms with the younger face of the delivery service. She’d have to reach out to Flayn’s older, more shrewd brother for that. 

Ashe was still suffering. 

“What happened to you?” Caspar laughed. 

“Ate something spicy,” Ashe struggled. He leaned against the counter, red faced and still shaking. 

Caspar broke out into laughter. 

Dedue snorted quietly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still doing research and . . . I know I got some things wrong there :| 
> 
> It's for the good of the story I say
> 
> (I'm very lazy, is what I mean) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	3. Dinner After Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then they were left alone. 
> 
> Ashe was drumming his fingers on stool, staring down at the proving drawer, and Dedue waited. Slowly, he began pulling out the gear he had just put away and gently lined them up on the counter. Ashe glanced over his shoulder. Once, then twice. Then finally 
> 
> “I tried to make that chickpea paste you described,” he said. 
> 
> Once again, Dedue hid his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking schedule rules again~~ Its just the wild west out here. No rules, just right.

“Add a little more flour. Good. Good. Okay just let it beat for a bit and it should be ready for proving.” 

Mercedes hovered over Ashe’s shoulder as they both stared down the stand mixer. Ashe kept his hand on the speed, biting his lower lip, and staring down at the paddle attachment. He didn’t appear to be blinking. The rest of the staff was cleaning up, but they didn’t seem to mind Ashe’s now regular extra curricular activities. Especially if it meant none of them were put on bread duty again. 

“Are you sure you want to be doing this so late at night?” Mercedes asked. “The proving time can be quite long.” 

Ashe’s eyes darted briefly over to Dedue. 

“It's alright,” he said. “I can bake at home.” 

“Dough is not meant to travel,” she warned. 

“I live pretty close. And if I mess up I’ll just try again in the morning right?” 

“Oh! Watch your speed.” 

Ashe refocused on the paddle, once again not blinking. Dedue pretended to be minding his own business and to not be amused by the new cook. He instead focused on sorting out the used equipment and gently placing it away, knowing full well it’ll be taken out again within the next hour. 

The dough was out of the mixer and Mercedes was guiding Ashe in just the right way to knead it when Felix stepped into Dedue’s kitchen. He walked in, back stiff and straight, eyeing the room with a mild look of disdain, trying desperately to not look as out of place as he was. Once done with his disapproval of the room, he straightened out his vest and looked vaguely past Dedue. 

“Ubert,” he said with no small amount of authority. 

Ashe jolted in place, palm deep in a mound of dough. 

“Y-yes?” he asked. 

Felix cleared his throat, straightened his vest again, and did not make eye contact. 

“Annette,” he said, then sighed, pained at the very words coming out of his mouth. “Annette wanted to know if you’d like to come to dinner.” 

The very prospect of sharing an evening with his wife and her equally boisterous friend seemed visibly sickening to Felix. Mercedes folded her lips in an effort to contain a giggle. Somewhere in the corner, Caspar muttered a quiet _‘whipped._ ’ 

Once again, Ashe’s eyes quickly darted to Dedue. The chef distinctly took no notice. Ashe smiled weakly and gestured to the dough on the counter. 

“I’ll be busy for a bit,” he said. “But let her know next time!” 

Felix breathed deep, seeming equally irritated by the rejection as he had been by the invitation. 

“Fine,” he said. “Enjoy your. . . bread.” 

He marched out of the room quicker than he had come. From the other side of the tinted glass he could see Felix report the news to his wife and Annette looking appropriately huffy at their lack of a dinner guest. Dedue hid his smile. 

The wait staff filed out until the dining room was empty. The rest of the cooks made their way out the back door and Cyril gave an appropriate look of disapproval at his unending work going left unfinished until the next day. Ashe waited on a stool by the proving drawer, waiting on his dough. 

Mercedes had her keys in hand and purse tucked cleanly at her side, always looking just so. She paused looking at the near empty kitchen, save for Dedue wiping down his counter and Ashe’s back. 

“You sure you’re alright with him closing up?” she asked quietly. 

“I’ll be fine,” Dedue said. “I’m working out the last of the spring menu.” 

“Alright.” Mercedes fixed her purse that didn’t need fixing. “Dimitri will be in tomorrow night, you can run it by him then.” 

“Thank you Mercedes.” 

“See you tomorrow!” 

And then they were left alone. 

Ashe was drumming his fingers on stool, staring down at the proving drawer, and Dedue waited. Slowly, he began pulling out the gear he had just put away and gently lined them up on the counter. Ashe glanced over his shoulder. Once, then twice. Then finally 

“I tried to make that chickpea paste you described,” he said. 

Once again, Dedue hid his smile. 

“Tried?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure I got it right.” Ashe turned on the stool, still gripping the side between his legs. “It seemed like it needed salt, but I think adding salt might disrupt the balance?” 

“You’re on the right track,” Dedue said. “It's typically paired with salty foods.” 

“I thought so!” Ashe said. “I was thinking olives?” 

A small amount of pride swelled within Dedue. A certain secret that Ashe had found out, that he hadn’t shared, and Dedue didn’t mind. 

“That's a common pairing, yes,” he said. 

“I wanted to pan fry some, but I didn’t have any olives at home.” Ashe looked away bashfully. “And all the stores are closed at 1 in the morning.” 

Dedue snorted. 

“You’re over complicating it,” he said. "Normally, they’re eaten raw. And the paste is used as a dip.” 

Ashe sat up a little straighter. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh that sounds really lovely.” 

Dedue had intended to use Ashe’s excellent knife skills and make one of his salads for their dinner, but. . . Maybe an appetizer wouldn’t be so bad. 

“I think we have some green olives in the pantry,” Dedue said. “Get them?” 

Ashe was off the stool in a microsecond. 

“Yes chef,” he said as he power walked past. 

Ever since that first night with the brined goat leg, Ashe and Dedue had been sharing dinners. At first it was a sporadic night here and there, but in that week alone they had 3 nights together back to back. Ashe was fascinated with Dedue’s knowledge, for the recipes that only Dedue knew, for the ingredients he got special. Ashe was a bottomless well, desperate for the new knowledge and Dedue. . . 

If he was being honest with himself, he liked talking about them. He liked having someone to listen. He liked having the excuse to make all of his favorite foods. 

Dedue began pulling out the vegetables he brought from home. Ashe came back with the olives and everything they’d need to make the paste, scattering the armful on the counter. He eyed the vegetables with interest. 

“More from your garden?” he asked. 

“Mmhmm,” Dedue hummed. 

Ashe picked up one.

“Is this a . . . cucumber?” he asked. 

Dedue nodded, cataloging the interest and curiosity that flitted across Ashe’s face in waves. 

“I’ve never seen one yellow before,” he said. “Or this long.” 

Dedue plucked it from his hand and replaced it on the counter. 

“It tastes no different,” he said. “It simply adds color.” 

He pulled out two small bottles, one of oil, one of vinegar, specially made by his hand. They clinked gently against the counter. Ashe leaned over, taking it all in. 

“What are we making?” he asked. 

“The chickpea paste,” Dedue said and Ashe gave him a flat look. “Go dry off the olives.” 

“Yes chef,” Ashe said, grabbing the jar he had gracelessly dropped. “Should I use the dehydrator?” 

That was an idea. Dedue mulled on it, cocking his head slightly to the side. 

“Half,” he said. 

“Yes chef.” 

Dedue drained the chickpeas, sprinkled some salt on them, and pat them between two paper towels. Off behind him, he heard Ashe grunt and the heavy thunk of the dehydrator hitting the counter. Dedue went looking for a food processor. He hadn’t been expecting to use one that night, but was already altering the timing. It was all very simple and Dedue found himself thinking up variations and alterations to the base recipe. Anything that might impress Ashe. 

It seemed everything Dedue made impressed Ashe. 

“Do you grow olives in your garden?” Ashe asked over his shoulder. 

Dedue shook his head. 

“I cannot,” he said. “I lack the time.” 

“Too much of a commitment?” Ashe asked. “Thats a shame.” 

He brought half the dried olives to Dedue’s side, once again standing almost shoulder to shoulder with the man. 

“What next?” he asked. 

Dedue nudged his garden vegetables in front of Ashe. 

“Dice these into quarter inch squares,” he said. And before Ashe could ask, “No need to peel.” 

Ashe closed his opened mouth and gave Dedue a sly smile. 

“Yes chef,” he said and went for the cutting board and knife, already prepped and ready to go. Dedue got to work grinding the chickpeas.

Some nights they worked in blessed silence, Ashe needed very little instruction. Dedue had liked the quiet of his kitchen, when he was alone and it was just the sounds of him cooking. But he had grown used to Ashe’s movements, his rapid fire knife work. His questions. 

Dedue grew to like the noise. 

“What else do you grow in your garden?” Ashe asked. “Or is it just veggies and spices?” 

Dedue paused the food processor. He looked at the half lumped paste and considered once again to simply ignore Ashe’s question. But he had failed at that so far. 

“Flowers,” he said. 

Ashe’s knife stopped. Dedue looked over to see the line cook staring up at him with wide eyes. 

“Flowers?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Dedue said. “A variation of them.” 

“Really?” 

“I like to garden.” 

Ashe mulled over this for a moment, his gaze wandering away from Dedue’s eyes, and finally he puffed out a little laugh. 

“I guess so,” he said, and went back to chopping. 

“Is that so strange?” Dedue asked. 

“I suppose not,” Ashe said. “It's only. . . you’re a lot different than what I expected.” 

Dedue turned to face his employee and raised a brow. Ashe put down the knife and waved his hands. 

“I-I only mean. It's just,” he fumbled. “Felix and Annette made you out to be so intimidating and, I don’t know, mean? Not mean, I mean. I-I guess. Strict?” 

Dedue snorted. 

“You’re just.” Ashe sighed and his hands dropped to his sides. He smiled up at Dedue, his eyes catching the overhead lighting. “A lot gentler.” 

Dedue inspected the line cook, watching him silently stare. That was. . . unexpected. Dedue had never had any concerns about how he was perceived, he didn’t much care how people saw him. It made him terrible at those interviews and first introductions, it was why he typically kept behind Dimitri, standing in his shadow. It didn’t matter how people saw him, all that mattered was the task at hand. 

But to know that Ashe saw him as gentle? It caused the same quick thrill he got when Ashe was interested in yet another recipe. 

Ashe suddenly jolted under from Dedue’s prolonged attention and he quickly turned back to the vegetables. His furious pace of dicing returned. Dedue smiled and went back to his chickpeas. 

They worked together for the next hour, Dedue instructing what went next with the salad, keeping the construction of the paste a secret. It wasn’t long until they had a minor spread before them. The salad sat colorfully in a clear bowl, all reds and green-blues, a small amount of liquid pooling sophisticatedly against the sides. Dedue had bothered with plating, taking pride in his mise en place, even if just for a slap dash dinner after hours. The paste was gingerly spread on one side of the plate, the olives were split into wet and dry. Dedue wished he had flatbread to include with the plate, but for a last minute taster it wasn’t bad. 

Dedue scooped the salad into a small bowl and handed it off to Ashe. He waited and watched as Ashe took his first bite. 

Funny. He hadn’t been this anticipatory before. 

Ashe took his bite and within a second his body rocked back. He flopped back from standing onto his stool. His shoulders slumped bonelessly and his head rolled backwards. He groaned a pleased little hum that was becoming more and more familiar to Dedue. When he finally opened his eyes again, his brow was furrowed, almost upset if not for the same pleased sound. He went for a second bite. 

“Good?” Dedue asked. 

“Excellent,” Ashe said, trying and failing to not talk around the food in his mouth. “Its always excellent. Your food is amazing, chef.” 

A smile twinged at the corner of Dedue’s mouth. He shifted, crossing his arms, and tried not to show what little discomfort he had. 

“Are you going to eat?” Ashe asked. 

“I know what it tastes like,” Dedue said. 

Ashe gave him a small smile and served up a second bowl. 

“That's not the point,” he said, handing it off. 

This time Dedue didn’t fight the smile. He took the bowl, leaned up against the counter next to Ashe, and ate his dinner. Half way through, Ashe put down his bowl and picked up the paste. 

“Shall we?” he asked. 

Dedue jerked his head at the plate. 

“I made it for you,” he said. 

Ashe’s smile waned, slowly transforming into something else. His mouth went slack and he looked up at Dedue for a long long moment. When he regained himself, he shook his head and that smile had returned. He kept his eyes downcast, as if he couldn’t look up at Dedue anymore. 

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.” 

A little too quickly, he swiped an olive across the paste and popped it in his mouth. Once he was actually eating, he slowed down. Slowly, he breathed in deep. He stared out ahead, seeing nothing, completely focused on the flavor. 

“I definitely got the recipe wrong,” he said. 

“You probably did not,” Dedue said. “I altered this one.” 

Ashe finally looked back up at him and questioned without asking. 

“Its very versatile,” Dedue said. “And can take on many flavors. You probably created an admirable base.” 

Ashe smiled slowly. 

“Thank you,” he said. “But you don’t know if it was admirable or not.” 

“You are a good cook, I know it was,” Dedue said. 

Ashe was so pale and a blush was always visible across his skin, making the splash of freckles across his nose stand out. He handed over the plate and Dedue took it without any comment this time. They fell into a comfortable silence, testing out the wet olives vs the dry. 

“If you really like,” Dedue said. “You could make it tomorrow night?” 

Ashe paused, fingers holding up a dried olive, and Dedue realized how odd his offer was. They had been staying behind randomly, as an understood situation. As much as Dedue planned for Ashe’s company, made ideas for meals to make for him, there hadn’t been any vocal plans before. 

Ashe smiled again and nodded. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’d be glad to.” 

He popped the olive in his mouth, chewed quickly, and was back to his usual gusto. 

“And I was thinking, maybe including some olives in the bread I’m making might go well with the paste,” he said. 

Dedue nodded. He didn’t know how, but it was surprisingly easy to be comfortable with Ashe. He blamed the ease of conversation, the bouncing of ideas, the shared commonality. 

They cleaned up and there was plenty of salad left over for Dedue to take home. He tried to offer it to Ashe, but with hands full with the raised dough, it was easy for Ashe to turn it down. It would make for a good breakfast anyways. 

The hour was nearing tomorrow as they stood on the back dock. Despite the warm days, the nights were still cold, and Ashe’s breath misted in the air. His fingers shifted, wrapped around the bowl in his arms and exposed to the cold. 

“I like gardening,” he said apropos of nothing. 

Dedue had the key in the lock and stopped mid turn. He silently looked over to Ashe. 

“Too,” Ashe said suddenly. “I mean as well. I like gardening too.” 

“Oh?” Dedue said. 

“I-I. Well I don’t have an actual garden and don’t have the space to grow my own stock,” he rambled. “But. But I have a window box. My sister, she had given me violets for my birthday and I’ve kept some. Ever since.” 

Dedue smiled and locked the door with a heavy _ka-thunk_. 

“That's lovely,” he said. 

This time, Ashe didn’t seem uncomfortable. When he paused, he simply smiled. There was no awe or blush, just a simple moment between them. Dedue shared it, relished it, and enjoyed the silence. And as it went on, a soft bubbling built up in his chest. He sighed slowly. 

“Well,” Ashe said and drummed his fingers on the bowl. “I’d better get this home for second proof.” 

“Get home safe, Ashe,” Dedue said. 

“You too, chef,” he said. 

“And remember to get some sleep.” 

“I will chef!” 

“Don’t let the bread prevent you from a good night’s rest.” 

“I _will_ , chef,” Ashe laughed. 

Dedue couldn’t think of what to say next. He wanted to say something. He didn’t want the conversation to end. But Ashe sighed, his smile wide and his shoulders relaxed. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. 

“Good night,” was all Dedue could say, letting the conversation end.

“Good night, chef.” 

Ashe stumbled down the stairs as he walked down backwards. Dedue went to grab him, to help, but Ashe managed to right himself. He laughed nervously and made his way to his car with another soft _night, night, good night._

Dedue knew he should start making his way home. It was already so late and he was tired. 

But instead he watched Ashe’s beater pull out into the night until he could no longer see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay good. We're getting into the soff nonsense. Familiar territory for me yes. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	4. An Unusual Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette walked up to his station, not heading in to her normal post, and leaned against the counter. Dedue ignored her in favor of focusing on his own work. Still, she stayed and stared and grinned. 
> 
> “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she asked. 
> 
> Dedue could have kept ignoring her. 
> 
> “Who?” he asked.
> 
> “Don’t play stupid,” Annette scoffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have fallen into this deep ashedue pit and I'm making a home here 💕
> 
> Please enjoy a little flirty food based escapism

Ashe stayed late every night. Ashe came in early every morning. Ashe had successfully wormed his way into Dedue’s sanctuary. 

And Dedue didn’t mind. 

Dedue had been a solitary person for most of his life. He had preferred his moments alone, his peace and quiet. But when he showed up just a few minutes earlier than he normally would and found Ashe sitting on the steps of the back door, his alone time seemed less precious. Especially coming to work to a smile like that. It was nice to be able to make someone smile. Like that. 

They stood in the quiet of the kitchen, the early morning grey the only light that filled the space, and carefully prepped for service. They stood side by side, working in separate stations, but closer than would be acceptable during service. Ashe had taken on Dedue’s duties, carefully slicing fruits. Sauces and bases should have been a priority, but that meant being back to back. That made conversation harder. 

That's what Dedue told himself. 

Even despite that, they worked in silence. That morning, Ashe had only said hello, asked Dedue how he was doing. They exchanged some pleasantries, but nothing more. Dedue waited for Ashe’s questions, for Ashe to ask what was for dinner that night, for some comment on an experimentation he had done the night before. 

Instead a tangerine peel was slid onto Dedue’s cutting board. 

It had been peeled in a single peel, curled up and folded, twisted around itself in intricate circular patterns, until it resembled a flower. 

Dedue looked from it to Ashe’s small smile. 

“Did Lonato teach you that?” he asked. 

“No,” Ashe laughed. He paused, his knife hesitating. He licked his lips and his fingers twiddled around the handle. Steadily, he went back to slicing. “My mother used to make those. When I was small.” 

Dedue stopped and stood up a little straighter. That was different. Of course Ashe had a family, everyone had a family, even Dedue for a time, but this was the first time hearing about them. 

Dedue wondered what that meant. 

Ashe glanced quickly from his work to Dedue, nerves apparent on his face. He worked a little quicker, a little sloppier. Dedue had stopped working altogether. 

A question formed on his lips, one that asked for clarification. About Ashe’s mother, about the flower, but Ashe beat him to the punch. 

“I think it looks a little like the flower you showed me,” Ashe said. “The one in your garden?” 

At that, Dedue stood a little more at attention. He couldn’t help but smile. Ashe had asked what kind of flowers Dedue grew in his garden, so the next morning he came in with an array of pictures. Ashe had sat on the counter, flipping through the pictures on Dedue’s phone. Dedue had waited, just as anxious as he was when presenting Ashe with a new meal, nervous for Ashe’s approval. 

Ashe had flitted through the pictures, a comment for nearly every single one of them, in awe of how they flourished and their color and perfect blooms. 

When he got to the rose, the one that needed to be removed, the one that no longer had space, he stopped. 

It was an unusual flower, Dedue knew that, strange to the location. It required different dirt, near constant sunlight, used to a harsher environment. Dedue waited on Ashe’s approval. 

And he got that smile again. 

Dedue carefully took the peel off his cutting board and placed it on the shelf in front of him. Where he could see it. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

Ashe tucked his chin and smiled to himself, his knife work once again achieving that beautiful precision. Dedue tried to come up with some excuse to keep talking, maybe to ask Ashe about his mother, when the back door opened up. 

Annette stood in the door way, leaning against the frame, her keys in hand and a wry grin on her face. 

“Was anyone going to let in the fish deliveries?” she said. “He’s been honking.” 

Cyril walked in, already carrying a crate filled with ice and fish. Out in the parking lot, he could see Caspar and Linhardt coming in, Linhardt with his coffee in hand and a wide mouthed yawn. Dedue jerked his head to Ashe in the direction of the door. 

“Go help,” he said. 

“Yes chef,” Ashe said and wiped down his knife. 

Dedue didn’t miss the smile Ashe gave him before walking away, that same smile he was growing used to. He glanced back at his flower peel before returning to work, ignoring the smile of his own. 

Annette walked up to his station, not heading in to her normal post, and leaned against the counter. Dedue ignored her in favor of focusing on his own work. Still, she stayed and stared and grinned. 

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” she asked. 

Dedue could have kept ignoring her. 

“Who?” he asked.

“Don’t play stupid,” Annette scoffed. Her husband was really rubbing off on her. 

Dedue glanced to her. He didn’t mean to glare, but he couldn’t help it. Just like he couldn’t help the quick glance over his shoulder. His line cooks were filing in, each with their own large crate in hand, backs bent to accommodate the weight and arms stretched around the boxes. He caught sight of Ashe, his face twisted in concentration and strain to keep his tenuous hold on his crate. 

Dedue refocused on his work and sliced through a potato with enough force to make a small _clip_ against the cutting board. 

Annette laughed. 

“You’re obvious,” she said. 

“There's nothing to be obvious about,” Dedue said. 

“You’re blushing,” she practically sang. 

“And you’re mistaken.” He pointed his knife at her and leaned down to her height. “I do not blush.” 

Annette was smug and unwavering, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. Dedue glanced again, despite himself. Ashe had made his way back outside and out of sight. Annette laughed next to Dedue, tittering lightly behind her hand. Dedue grunted and tried to go back to work. 

“Oh hey Merci,” Annette called out, standing up straight. “And. . . Sylvain what are you doing here?” 

Back at the door, Mercedes and Sylvain walked in, the latter practically sauntering and drinking from his own high end coffee. He laughed and leaned against a stack of boxes piled up at the door, one foot propped up against the side. 

“Theres a question,” he said. 

“A little early for you,” Annette said. 

“I’m here to help.” 

“That does not look like helping,” Mercedes said, brushing past him. 

“I’m here for moral support!” 

He pat Caspar on the back as he walked past. 

“Good job.” 

Another pat on the back for Linhardt and the tired man stumbled forward. 

“Good job!” 

He ruffled Ashe’s hair, who responded with a soft _’hey’_. 

“Great job!” 

When he went for Cyril, the porter ducked under Sylvain’s hand with an experienced ease. 

“Touch me and you lose your hand,” he said without a glance back. 

Sylvain froze with his hand in the air and a strained smile on his face. He recovered quickly and held his hands out like a game show host. 

“See? Helping.” 

Annette rolled her eyes and followed Mercedes into her office. 

“Actually, I’m here for you,” Sylvain said, pointing at Dedue. 

Dedue gave the bartender his attention, looking over his shoulder. 

“His royal highness wants a list of spring cocktails and wine pairings. And I actually pull my weight around here,” he yelled in Mercedes’ direction. “ _Some_ people are slacking on the desert menu.” 

“That is not my job,” Mercedes’ light voice sang from her office. 

“Not officially,” Sylvain muttered. 

Ignoring all the disrespect, Dedue wiped down his blade and threw the cloth over his shoulder. He wiped his hands together in two quick swipes before folding his arms and fixing the bartender with an even stare. When nothing happened he motioned to the dining room, indicating Sylvain to lead. 

They went over the tentative menu Dedue had developed thus far. Going through the food items ( _’really? He wanted a fish stew?’_ ) and the wine pairings Sylvain thought might be good. As per usual, Sylvain wanted to suggest some beer pairings ( _’we’re not a brew pub’_ ). 

“I’m thinking up something springy for the new cocktails,” Sylvain said, twirling his pencil. 

“Isn’t that the point?” Dedue asked. 

“I mean I’m thinking of adding some floral flavors,” he said. “You know, lavender and rose water. Adding pinks and purples.” 

He trailed off, his thoughts elsewhere, and his eyes drifted towards the kitchen. Dedue followed them, his staff fully there, already abuzz and working. 

“Thinking you should do the same,” Sylvain said. 

Dedue grunted. 

“Floral flavors hardly go with steak,” he said. 

Sylvain waved him off. 

“Not that, I mean something light. Springy.” He poofed his hand like a magician. "You got anything like that?" 

Dedue’s mind flashed back to last week, to the salad he’d made for Ashe. The line cook had used terms light and refreshing. Springy. 

“Not at this time,” Dedue said. “But I’ll see if I can develop something.” 

Sylvain rolled his eyes. 

“You mean see if you can develop something his majesty would like,” he said. 

“He has a name.” 

“So? You don’t say it.” 

Dedue grumbled and was not about to admit that he was right. 

“Welp,” Sylvain said slapping his hands together. “All thats left is to get Mercedes to make desserts.” 

“That really is not her job,” Dedue said. 

“I know, but maybe she shouldn’t be so damn good at it,” Sylvain said with a smile. “Or we get one of them dessert makers.” 

“Patissier,” Dedue said. 

“Patissier.” Sylvain mimicked the accent and raised both his pinkies. “Just ask you BFF for one. I’m sure if its _you_ asking he’ll give it to you.” 

Dedue looked aside, back to his kitchen. 

“He loves to spoil you,” Sylvain said. 

“Hm,” Dedue grunted. 

“Or just get the new kid to do it. Is he any good at it?” 

Dedue found Ashe moving around. He had picked up where Dedue had left off, without any direction, falling into his perfect place in the kitchen. He was a good cook, that was for sure, but not just in the kitchen. His contributions and ideas to their little dinners were inspired and always a delicious compliment. And he could bake. . . 

“I’ll have to ask,” Dedue said. 

“You do that,” Sylvain said with a stretch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off performing magica behind my bar and coming up with the official cocktails. Then probably take a nap in the back room before service. Don’t tell Linhardt, he’ll get jealous.” 

Sylvain got up and Dedue followed. 

“Be sure to wake me when that cute new waitress gets in,” Sylvain said with a wink. 

“I’ll be sure to pass the message on to Annette,” Dedue said. 

“Uh don’t do that,” Sylvain laughed nervously, knowing death when he saw it. 

Dedue returned to his domain. Heat began to rise in the kitchen and it would only get worse. Everyone had their way of coping with it. From Ingrid's plaits pinned tight to the back of her head to Caspar having to put up Linhardt's hair. They didn't need another hair in the soup incident. Ashe carried bobby pins on him, pulling his bangs off to the side and out of his eyes. It was a new signifier to Dedue, the transition from their time together into work. 

"A–" Dedue stopped and tried again. "Ubert." 

Ashe looked up from a fish he was fileting. Dedue motioned him over and he seemed to jolt at the gesture, but scrambled across the kitchen anyways. 

"What's your experience on dessert?" Dedue asked. 

Ashe looked off to the side, as if it would know the answer. 

"Okay I suppose," he said. 

So he was good at it. Ashe had a tendency to down play his strengths. Dedue wondered when he had figured that out. 

"Could you develop ideas for the spring dessert menu?" Dedue asked. 

"Me?" Ashe asked, his eyes going wide and pointing at his chest. 

Dedue nodded. 

"About 10-15 and we'll narrow it down from there." 

"I . . . um." Ashe looked off to the side again and smiled at the corner. "Yes chef." 

"Ingrid may offer some assistance," Dedue said. He thought for a second, remembering the last time his sous chef truly baked. ". . . Mercedes can offer some assistance. But try not to over burden her." 

"Yes chef," Ashe said and it sounded like a secret. "Thank you for the opportunity. I won't let you down." 

They stood across from each other, with only the service counter between them. The clangs of cookware and conversation from the line blurred together. Heat continued to build and Ashe's swept aside bangs revealed a sparkle in his eye. His fetching smile seemed to touch them.

Fetching? 

"Back to work," Dedue said. 

No yes chef this time, just a smile, and Ashe returned back to his station. Dedue looked over his shoulder. Annette was getting ready in the dining room and quickly whipped her head away, pretending like she wasn't watching. The smile she was trying to hide gave her away. 

Annette was wrong. About whatever she was wrong about.

The next few hours went by in a blur. More deliveries came in, for meat and produce and liquor. Meat was broken down, vegetables chopped, stock made. The kitchen fell into the odd state of loud and quiet at the same time. Idle chatter was brought down to a minimum as staff focused on their work, but the cacophony of knives and pots filled the room. 

Dedue focused on his own work, attempting to create something light for the menu. Maybe, _maybe_ the salad he had made wouldn’t be so bad. It was technically a breakfast staple, but he had given it to Ashe at night. Maybe if he put it on lettuce and replaced the cucumber with one that was more regional to the area and got rid of the gourd. 

It would just be a garden salad with different seasoning on it. 

Dedue tapped his pencil against his pad and weighed the risks and benefits of doing that. His salad wouldn’t fly in HKF. Ashe was an outlier. Better to just do a garden salad then. 

He continued to jot down ideas, but his mind wandered to the meal he had planned for that evening. 

Prep turned into service and Dedue joined his brigade. He was never one to take the lead, to inspire the troops before going into the night, and left Ingrid to give quick words of encouragement before the first customer came through the door. 

They slid into service as easy as a duck into water. It was never too difficult on a weeknight, but the dining room soon filled up to a comfortable level and there was a small wait at the door. Dedue took his place at the pass, reading orders at they came from the POS, tasting the room as he went around, examining each dish before they left his kitchen. 

Ingrid fell behind on meats and Dedue had called on Ashe to assist, despite Ingrid’s half protest that she had it. Ashe did as he was told with a call back of _’yes chef’_. Dedue tried to ignore the look, the smile that Ashe gave, but he found himself half frozen, until Caspar brought soup for garnish. 

The night rolled from rush to late. From late to close. From close to clean up. The team quietly cleaned their stations, a mimic of prep, but the conversation lulled due to exhaustion rather than focus. 

The wait staff cleared out the rest of the guests and began to pull the linens from the tables. Annette almost skipped from the dining room to the kitchen. She ducked into Mercedes’ office and when she came back, Mercedes was in tow, trying desperately to shut off the light and lock the door while she was dragged out. Annette leaned over the service table and stuck her head into Dedue’s kitchen. 

“Hey hey, everyone,” she said. “Dimitri just called and I gotta pick him up from the airport tonight. So I was thinking we all go out and get some cheap dinner and drinks? What do you say? Except you Cyril.”

“Hey,” Cyril protested.

“You’re not old enough to drink yet,” Annette said. “You’re still a baby.” 

“I can still get food,” he said. 

“Okay fine fine, you can come.” 

“I have to go home.” 

Annette rolled her eyes. 

“Any other takers?” 

“I’ll come,” Ingrid said, snapping off her jacket. “How cheap are we talking? I need grease.” 

“Cheap as heck.” 

“Us too.” Caspar spoke for him and Linhardt, the latter already asleep in his palm. Linhardt waved them off in a poor attempt at protest, but it seemed he had no choice.

Then Annette’s eyes turned to Dedue. 

“Chef?” she asked. 

It was an innocent question, none of the night’s earlier insinuations in it. Dedue did not respond. He didn’t look to her and he definitely did _not_ look to Ashe. Especially didn’t look to Ashe. 

Maybe a quick glance. 

“I’m staying behind,” he said. 

To her credit, Annette genuinely looked surprised. Her brows raised before she shifted into a sly smile. Her eyes slid to Ashe, keeping that same smile. 

“How about you Ashe?” she asked slowly. 

“Oh well.” Ashe was nowhere near as conservative about concealing his glances. “I was going to stay behind and help clean up.” 

Annette’s amusement was palpable. She looked back to Dedue. 

She was wrong. 

“Okie dokie,” she said. “Come on team, let's go!” 

They all filed out through the front, idle chatter among them, until once again, Dedue and Ashe were left alone in the silence. To his credit, Ashe managed to keep busy cleaning for at least 5 minutes. 

“So what's for dinner?” he finally asked. 

Dedue smiled to himself. He headed to the fridge to pull out the prepared ingredients he had brought from home. 

“I figured we could try something spicy today,” he said. 

“Ah! Good!” Ashe said, sliding up to Dedue’s station, where the flower peel still sat. 

“It won’t have that pepper in it though.” 

“Why not?” Ashe asked. “I can take it. The lamb wasn’t so bad.” 

“I would prefer you actually taste my cooking,” Dedue said. “Not be doubled over in pain.” 

Ashe grinned. 

“I would prefer to taste it too,” he said. 

Dedue had nothing to say to that. He gave Ashe some instructions and preheated the oven. 

“Do you have any ideas on dessert yet?” he asked, just to make conversation. 

Ashe almost looked surprised. 

“I’ve been working all day, chef,” Ashe half laughed. He went quiet for a moment. “But yeah, I have some ideas.” 

Dedue snorted a laugh. 

“I can have a couple for tasting tomorrow,” Ashe said, carefully chopping a pepper the way Dedue had shown him. 

“Then when will you have time for sleep?” Dedue asked. Ashe seemed like he might say something, but Dedue interrupted him before he could. “Save it for a day off.” 

Ashe’s mouth closed and he went back to his work. 

“If you say so,” he said with a smile. 

They returned to that quiet and as much as Dedue enjoyed the comfort he felt in it, he wanted to talk. Or at least listen. And there was something. . . 

“I could use your help,” he said. “Sylvain suggested I add some lighter foods to the spring menu. Would you have any ideas?” 

Ashe tapped his chin in thought, looking off to the corner, and Dedue wondered if that's what he looked like when coming up with his own ideas. 

“You could always do that salad you made the other night,” Ashe said with some pep. 

Honestly, Dedue should have seen that coming. He tried to come up with some response, some excuse, but he couldn’t come up with something appropriate and fell back into silence again. 

Ashe paused and leaned forward, examining Dedue’s face. 

“It’s odd,” he said. 

Dedue smiled. 

“Are you going to comment on my character again?” he asked. 

“No. Well. Kind of,” Ashe said. “Everything you make after hours is wonderful and its of this different quality that I’ve never seen before. But.” 

Dedue braced himself. 

“I don’t see any of it on HKF’s menu,” Ashe said. “I know some of what goes into these dinners are specialty items, but still. It's very odd.”

Dedue cut through the chicken breast, splitting it evenly into two servings and snapping his knife against the cutting board. Ashe didn’t flinch, only stood still and waited on Dedue’s answer. Dedue turned so he wouldn’t have to look and began to season the meat with herbs he brought from home, resting it on the pan. He contemplated, wondering. 

Ashe deserved an answer. 

“I am from Duscur,” Dedue said. 

The pause hung heavy, weighing down Dedue’s shoulders. 

“Oh,” Ashe said. 

“Oh. . .” he said slower as it settled in. 

“Oh.” And there was the pity. 

Dedue turned to place the chicken into the oven, still keeping his back to Ashe. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid. Afraid of Ashe’s reaction. He didn’t want to see it, not just yet. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashe said quietly. 

Dedue stood up straight, leaning his palms against the counter. He sighed heavily. He didn’t know where to go next, what to say next. Did he tell Ashe it was okay? Because it wasn’t. Or did he apologize, for deceiving him? Did he deceive him? 

“So all of this is Duscur food?” Ashe asked. 

He did deceive. 

“Yes,” Dedue said, finally turning around. “I’m sorry for–” 

“For what?!” Ashe said. He was smiling, his shoulders hiked high like the first time Dedue had met him, but he was beaming. “All of this is amazing food, Dedue . . . chef. And I would have never had it if it wasn’t for you.” 

Dedue hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Its a shame,” Ashe said. “The whole thing is a shame, but its such a shame that something like this could have been lost. I think its wonderful that you’re keeping these recipes alive. They couldn’t be in better hands.” 

Dedue maintained eye contact, staring down the little line cook, and Ashe didn’t waver. It was that solid steadfastness of his enthusiasm and morals that held him in place. And that same determined smile rooted Dedue in his spot. As it always had. 

“Thank you,” Ashe said. “For sharing it with me.” 

Dedue exhaled, unaware when he started holding his breath. He nodded and went back to his cutting board where the peel flower was. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. 

Ashe went back to work, a small pep in his knife work and a contented smile on his face. It was infectious. 

“And the flower?” Ashe asked. “Is that also from Duscur?”

“Yes,” Dedue said. “It will need to be uprooted soon.” 

“Why?” Ashe stopped cutting. 

“It has grown too large for its corner. New buds will need the space to grow in,” Dedue said. “But they will take some time.” 

“How much time?” Ashe asked. 

Dedue glanced at Ashe, all pure inquisitiveness. 

“That rose is almost as old as I am.” 

Ashe sighed and looked down at his board. He moved the cuttings around on the space, piling them up into small hills. 

“And it can’t be repotted inside?” he asked. 

“It needs a lot of direct sunlight.” 

Ashe looked up, into the corner, into the middle distance, where all the answers were. When it gave up the ghost, he turned to Dedue and grinned.

“How would it do on a south facing window box?” he asked. 

Dedue stood up a little straighter. A quick nervous excitement fluttered in his chest, like anxiety only more hopeful. The thought of sharing something that had been so dear to him with Ashe was less terrifying and more exciting. He realized he trusted him. He realized he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“I can give you instructions on how to care for it,” he said. 

Ashe beamed and the darkened kitchen seemed just a little bit brighter. Dedue soaked in that smile, the one he had grown used to and coveted and forced him still and made him want to make it happen a million times over. 

And he knew. 

Annette was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OF COURSE SHE'S RIGHT, DEDUE
> 
> WHEN IS ANNETTE EVER WRONG!?
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	5. Burnt Garlic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of the wait staff picked up two of the appetizers and headed out the door. The second in line reached for the next two. Followed by the third. Out the feast went to the sole occupied table in the dining room. 
> 
> Off went Dedue’s spring menu for first tasting. 
> 
> Ingrid wiped off her hands and stood at Dedue’s side, the menu as much her creation as it was his. They had spent service taking turns running the pass and ducking away to perfect the next plate. They were a mad frenzy, a well oiled machine, working on top of each other, getting the last details just right. They worked until after closing, until after all the guests were gone, until that very moment. 
> 
> When the menu was presented in front of Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a schedule. I have a set order set in place of what gets updated when. But apparently fuck the schedule and fuck me amirite? Y'all getting this next chapter super early bc THIS COULD NOT WAIT 
> 
> I COULD NOT WAIT
> 
> I mean. You'll see.

A bountiful spread of greens and proteins and sweets dotted the service counter. Each food stuff meticulously placed on their respective plates, fashioned in just the right pleasing manner as to feed the idle gaze long before they reached a stomach. Dedue wiped sauce from the edge of a large rounded plate and stood back. He placed his hands on his hips, examining the last details of each mise en place, before nodding. 

“Okay,” he said. “You can go.” 

The first of the wait staff picked up two of the appetizers and headed out the door. The second in line reached for the next two. Followed by the third. Out the feast went to the sole occupied table in the dining room. 

Off went Dedue’s spring menu for first tasting. 

Ingrid wiped off her hands and stood at Dedue’s side, the menu as much her creation as it was his. They had spent service taking turns running the pass and ducking away to perfect the next plate. They were a mad frenzy, a well oiled machine, working on top of each other, getting the last details just right. They worked until after closing, until after all the guests were gone, until that very moment. 

When the menu was presented in front of Dimitri. 

“Would you like to join me for feedback?” Dedue asked. 

Ingrid took a long breath in. She crossed her arms, watching Annette outline the specials and Sylvain gently pour the wine pairings. They had already been privy to the taste tests of the experimental version of the menu, knowing just what to say and how it would sit in their room. This was Dimitri’s introduction. The owner smiled pleasantly, but he wasn’t above disapproval. 

“Yes,” she said finally. “I’d like to know.” 

“Alright.” Dedue mimicked her, crossing his arms, and watching as their own biggest critic ate their creations. 

Dimitri was through the appetizers and he hit the arguably fish stew. They had compromised, creating something a little more elegant. Clams and dumplings in a soy broth. Dimitri ate one spoonful, with a lump of clam meat on it, and his eyes went wide. He looked directly into the kitchen and motioned for the chefs to come closer. Ingrid threw her hand towel onto the service counter. 

“Well,” she said. 

Dedue looked out over his brigade. They were cleaning up and pretending to not be paying attention. Caspar was looking up and quickly whipped his focus back to shoveling heirloom carrots into the trash. 

“You can go home,” Dedue said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“You sure chef?” Caspar asked. 

Dedue nodded and followed Ingrid out to the dining room. He paused, one hand holding the swinging kitchen door open and almost looked over his shoulder. In the end, he didn’t look back. 

“This is amazing!” Dimitri said as the chefs approached his table. 

“The clams were Ingrid’s idea,” Dedue said. 

“I wouldn’t have had to suggest them,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Fish stew.” 

Dedue cleared his throat and shot her a look. The one she returned had no apology in it. 

“Will you all please sit,” Dimitri said, indicating the empty chairs. “Having you all stand around me is kind of intimidating.” 

That was ridiculous. Dedue couldn’t wrap his mind around how a group of employees could be more intimidating than their boss assessing their hard work. Sylvain met Dedue’s eyes, brows raised, and probably mulling over the exact same thing Dedue was. He shrugged and took the seat next to his wine cart. Ingrid followed and Dedue felt it would be far more odd if he was the only one standing. 

Dimitri went on to the next dish, the standard burrata that was a staple on the menu and would never shift. 

“Inspired, as per usual,” he said. 

Dimitri made his way through the spread, sliding from appetizers to entrees. The new pasta dish with a housemade bucatini carbonara, as light touch as Dedue could make it. Dimitri was pleased with that one. Ingrid had suggested the bold decision to switch up to a flank steak, a normally cheap cut in meat, but dressed up the right way and they could sell it for a profit. That was also a winner. Sylvain guided the meal with wine pairings, ending the dinner with his cocktail line up and digestifs. 

“And last we have our dessert menu,” Annette said with all the decorum of a professional waitress, a far cry from the hyperactive woman everyone in the room knew her to be. “The flourless chocolate torte. Tiramisu.” 

The stand bys. Dedue held his breath for the last two. 

“A rich chocolate chip cookie with three sauces and scoop of vanilla ice cream. And a shortcake with berry compote and sugar glass dust.” 

Ashe’s additions. Something so simple and sweet but it had a homey quality to it and Mercedes had agreed that it was a nice end to the meal. But the sugar glass dust. . . 

“Sugar glass dust?” Dimitri asked. 

“Its super cool,” Annette said, breaking character. “They smash sugar into shards.” 

At Dimitri’s questioning raised brow, Annette waved her hand in Ingrid and Deude’s general direction. 

“You explain it,” she said. “I’ll get it right by service.” 

Dedue was still holding his breath and thankfully Ingrid jumped in. 

“We caramelize the sugar and let it harden,” she said. “Then we break it into shards and grind it up into a fine dust.” 

“It adds texture and color,” Dedue could finally add. 

“And it shimmers,” Dimitri said, looking at the little cake. 

He took his taste. He paused to mull it over before the euphoria came in. He leaned back in his seat, either from the fullness or the sheer enjoyment of the food. It was the same expression Ashe got on his first taste of a new meal Dedue gave to him.

Pride built up in Dedue, knowing his line cook could do just that. 

Dimitri hummed with excitement and pointed at the dessert. 

“This might have to be a mainstay,” he said, taking another bite. An advised against move during a tasting, especially at the end, but it seemed the dessert was good enough for more. “Is it difficult to make?” 

“Not really,” Ingrid said, waving her hand in a so-so motion.

“Then we’ll see how well it performs,” Dimitri said. 

Dedue nodded. He itched to run back to the kitchen and let Ashe know. 

“The only complaint I have is with the garden salad,” Dimitri said. “It just seems so bland in comparison to everything else.” 

Sylvain shot Dedue a side glance. Ashe’s suggestion raced through Dedue’s mind. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dedue said, reaching to take it away. 

Annette swatted at his hand. 

“The rest of this can go to the waitstaff,” Dimitri said. 

Behind him a hushed chorus of _’yes’_ and other amicable whispered cheers from the waiters. Ingrid reached for the pasta. Fork dead center and steering the plate across the table like a sail.

“And me,” she said. 

“Fatty,” Sylvain said under his breath. 

She kicked him under the table. 

"And I think," Dimitri said, half aware, jotting down notes and speaking slowly as he did. "We have. Our spring menu!" 

The last remark was punctuated with a strong jab of his pen and a big smile. He slumped back in his chair and looked over his staff. His eyes stalled on Dedue and he smiled gently. 

"I have been working non stop it seems," he said. "This came right on time. Thank you, my friend." 

Dedue nodded and said nothing. Dimitri slapped his thighs. 

"Let's go out," he said. "We can get some drinks and catch up, what do you say? It'll be just like your culinary school days." 

Dedue hesitated. The muscles in his neck twitched as he fought the urge to look over his shoulder. He had dismissed his staff, but he knew the nightly ritual would not be forgotten. Dimitri stared, expectantly, a polite smile on his face. 

“I, um.” His eyes darted from Dimitri’s confused, pleasant gaze to Annette’s sudden attention. “If that is what you’d like.” 

“What? No. No no no,” Dimitri said, waving his hands. “I mean yes, I would like you to come, but only if that’s what _you’d_ like.” 

“I–.” Dedue struggled to look behind him. 

“Chef makes dinner after hours,” Ingrid said. Sylvain was making a show of going for her meal and she swatted his hand away with a few strategic smacks, not looking up from her food. 

“Oh,” Dimitri said. If he was disappointed it didn’t show. “Are you cooking something now?” 

“Looks like it,” Annette muttered under her breath. 

Dedue looked over his shoulder. One would have to be looking for it, but he could see a figure moving behind the tinted glass. 

“Some other time then.” Dimitri rose to his feet. 

A twinge of guilt sat heavy in the back of Dedue's throat and he almost changed his mind. He felt selfish, indulging in something so foolish. But what was one more night of doing so? 

“Some other time,” Dedue said. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” 

The room bustled as everyone began to pack up. Ingrid and the waitstaff at the remains of the spring menu as Dimitri joined Felix by the door. Sylvain hid back behind his bar and closed up the till, putting away his tools of the trade. Dedue shot Annette a quick look, but she was otherwise occupied by her staff and husband. Thankful for small favors, Dedue retreated back to his haven. 

Ashe was busy cleaning. 

“I almost got into a fist fight with Cyril over the dishes,” he laughed, without even looking to see who came into the kitchen. “He told me that we were told to go.” 

Ashe shut off the faucet, grabbed a dish towel and turned around, wiping his hands. When he finally saw who it was he was talking to, his smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

“I hope its okay I stayed.” 

Dedue held in place and felt the door swing shut behind him. For just a moment, he couldn’t remember what it was that he came there to do. The guilt of his indulgence slowly ebbed away, letting himself have this. Ashe’s smile faltered. 

“Unless I should go?” he said, wiping his hands a little faster. They were plenty dry. 

Dedue swallowed, just to clear out the dryness in his mouth. 

“You can stay,” he said and left out the ‘I want you to stay’ that almost came out. 

Ashe smiled again and finished wiping his hands. He pulled up a stool and sat down next to Dedue’s station.

“Whats on the menu for tonight?” he asked. 

Dedue pulled a brown shopping bag out from under the counter and retrieved the contents within. A pot, made of iron, with a perfectly round bottom. It was near flat, almost a skillet, except for the gentle curve of the sides. Dedue whirled in the air. 

“Something special,” he said, handing the pot to Ashe. 

“Is this a wok?” Ashe asked. 

“Similar.” Dedue began pulling out ingredients. “Its a little tricky.” 

“Will this even stay on a stove?” Ashe laughed like it was some kind of joke. He turned the pot in the air, looking for the secret that would explain it. 

“No,” Dedue said and couldn’t hide his own smile. “It requires a lot of attention. I think you’ll like it.” 

Ashe hummed and tapped the curved end of the pot in his open palm. 

“Here.” Dedue handed a small woven basket filled with snap peas from his garden. “Start separating them.” 

With the pot leaned awkwardly on the stove, they began to work. What had once been silence was becoming more and more conversations. Ashe always seemed to have questions and Dedue noticed when he was more considerate and careful in constructing them. Curious about Duscur, it seemed. Dedue was more than happy to answer his tentative questions and Ashe never delved into anything more personal than Dedue’s garden. 

He was in the middle of describing exactly where he ordered his meat from, when Ashe perked up with a sudden thought. Dedue paused mid sentence. 

“Yes?” he asked. 

“I’m sorry I just.” Ashe reached into his pocket and fished out his phone. “I wanted to show you something.” 

He thumbed through his photos until he came upon the one he wanted to share and held it out to Dedue. On the screen was the rose that wasn’t a rose. The flower that had travelled so far from Duscur and now sat in the middle of a empty window box. It was a little too tall, but skewers were propped up in the dirt like crutches, the stem held upright until its roots could take. The sun shone brilliantly into the warm balcony, overlooking a city scape and a blue horizon line. 

“Safe and sound,” Ashe said. “I think the violets like her.” 

“Her?” Dedue asked. 

“Well she is a mother, am I right?” 

Dedue laughed under his breath and returned the phone. 

“You’ve done well,” he said. 

“It was a successful trans _plant_.” Ashe smiled, all too proud of himself, and once again Dedue couldn’t help but laugh. 

“That should be enough,” he said, sliding minced garlic into a small glass bowl. “We can begin.” 

The gas top clicked and whooshed to life. Dedue balanced the precarious pot over the flame and poured oil into the center. Using one hand, he rotated the dish, the oil dancing around the sides as a single fluid being, leaving behind trails as it heated up and dissipated. Ashe watched the pot move with his usual attentiveness. 

“The trick is to keep it moving,” Dedue said, only half paying attention to his rotating hand. The motion was so practiced it was practically second nature to him. “And to make sure the heat is evenly distributed.” 

He tossed in the garlic and it immediately began a light sizzle. 

“Give it a try,” he said, passing the handle off to Ashe. 

“Wuh. . ?” Ashe looked to Dedue, his eyes wide, then down to the handle. He hesitated, fidgeting, before finally taking it from Dedue’s hand. 

“Be sure to keep it moving,” Dedue said. 

“O-okay.” 

Ashe tried to work the pot with one hand as Dedue had, but the movement was clumsy and he quickly grabbed it with both hands, regaining control. He tried to move the pot, his whole arms rotating like a rower’s, but couldn’t quite achieve the same motion Dedue had. Still, he tried. 

Dedue began seasoning the pan more and added some more oil, with a soft warning before it could spit on Ashe’s arms. Ashe laughed and it was that pained sound from his first day. 

“I don’t think I have this,” he said. 

“You’re doing well,” Dedue said. “Tilt your wrist a little more.” 

“Like this?” 

“Oh. No. Not like. . . Here.” 

Dedue took hold of Ashe’s wrist and gently coaxed the tilt more outwards. As Ashe’s arm’s moved, he guided Ashe’s hand and wrist, moving with the pan. 

“You want the motion to come from your forearm, from your wrist and elbow.” 

He gently touched the inside of Ashe’s wrist, the corner of an exposed elbow, moving them in a more subtle gentle wave. 

“There,” Dedue said. “Thats good.” 

“R-right,” Ashe said quietly. 

Dedue reached behind Ashe for some of the vegetables he chopped up, the heartier kind that lasted longer in the oil. More oil spit and sizzled as he added it to the pan. Ashe was still stiff, still forcing the motion. Dedue took his other wrist, guiding both of his arms into something more natural. 

“You have excellent knifework, just channel that same energy,” Dedue said. “Relax your shoulders and find a rhythm.” 

After a couple of more passes, Ashe finally relaxed. His shoulders slumped and his hands found the right rhythm. The pot moved in languid waves, its contents slowly rotating up the sides, down into the center, then up again. Ashe sighed and leaned backwards, his back almost touching Dedue’s chest. 

It finally clicked just how close Dedue was. 

He had encapsulated Ashe, trapped him between his arms. Dedue hadn’t realized just how much smaller Ashe was than him. Ashe was relatively tall, an average height, and _everyone_ was smaller than Dedue, but at that proximity, that close, Ashe was dwarfed between his arms. 

Dedue released Ashe’s wrists and took a big step back. 

The rigidity of Ashe’s shoulders was completely gone and he had adapted to the motion. Proving to be a quick study, as he usually did. 

“There,” Dedue said. “You have it.” 

Ashe nodded and hummed in agreement, focus solely on the pot. Dedue took Ashe’s side and swore he saw a blush under those freckles. Dedue didn’t look for very long. He didn’t want to get caught staring. 

Dedue slid a softer vegetable in the pot. They sat in silence, the only sound was the quick sizzle of oil and the soft rustle as vegetables slid along the sides. Dedue cleared his throat. 

“They liked your desserts,” he said. 

Ashe was yanked out of his reverie and he smiled. He glanced over at Dedue, only a fleeting glance, not wanting to take his attention off the pot. 

“Did they?” he asked. “Thats great.” 

“Dimitri thinks the sugar glass should be a mainstay on the menu.” 

Ashe gasped and his smile widened. His shoulders began to tense up out of delight. Dedue wanted to reach out and push it back down, but he managed to restrain himself. 

“Good,” Ashe said. “I’m glad.” 

They swirled back into silence and the soft sizzle. Ashe quickly glanced at Dedue. 

“You never told me what you thought,” he said. 

He hadn’t? Dedue thought that by suggesting the deserts for the menu showed exactly what he thought of them. Didn’t his approval give away his thoughts on their quality?

“They were quite good,” he said. 

Ashe smiled and nodded. The tension in his shoulders once again relaxed. 

“So,” Ashe said. “What next?” 

Dedue carried on, adding the grain, stock, cooking wine. 

“It will soak and boil down quickly,” Dedue said. “This is where we season the pot.” 

“Okay.” Ashe nodded with determination. “What do we use?” 

Dedue was about to say, when he paused. Ashe had proved that he was exceedingly good at pairing flavors and did have the palette he had boasted. Plus, after so many conversations and meals, Ashe might have more than a passing knowledge of how to season a Duscur dish. 

“Improvise,” he said. 

Ashe almost dropped the pot, glancing over his shoulder in shock. He stuttered, the beginning of a rebuttal, an explanation as to why that wouldn’t be a good idea, but he stopped. Instead, he looked over the now familiar array of spices Dedue used in his Duscur dishes. Ashe inhaled determination. He let one hand go of the pot to scan over the spices. His other hand kept the rhythm, straining against the weight of it. Dedue had a far easier time in that regard. 

Ashe hummed as he made his decisions. Some of the powders and herbs were still unfamiliar to Ashe, having been used in a single dish, if at all. Ashe sniffed some, but ultimately began to build on the natural flavor profile. It wasn’t what Dedue would have done, but the spices chosen adhered to the unspoken rules of Dedue’s cooking. 

He tasted the broth, smacking his lips and looking off into a far corner. 

“I can’t tell what I’m missing,” he said. 

“What are you missing?” Dedue asked with humor. 

Ashe looked up to Dedue with a pathetic smile.

“Help?” 

Dedue went for his own tasting spoon. The broth was a combination of sweet and heat. He could tell right away what Ashe was talking about and the right spice to fix his problem. He was still curious as to what Ashe would do. He merely smiled and stayed silent. 

Ashe huffed. 

“Chef,” he whined. 

“You should be able to tell me.” 

Dedue took another scoop of the broth. He held it out, one hand braced underneath to catch anything that dribbled over. Acting on instinct, Ashe immediately tasted it. Once the spoon was in his mouth, he froze. Slowly, his eyes met Dedue’s. Dedue carefully pulled the spoon back, fascinated by the way his lips curled around it. Ashe did not blink.

“What do you need?” Dedue asked quietly. 

It all happened so quickly. 

Ashe inhaled sharply, leaned in, and closed the space between them. The pot clanged as it hit the metal grate, the fire spitting as drops of oil hit it. The heat from the fire flared against Dedue's arm, nowhere near the heat against his lips.

The sheer laughable impossibility of time freezing was a distant memory. Every single one of Dedue's senses was heightened. The pot and fire crackled softly, just over the deep whir of overhead fans and outside rumble of a car driving by. As the broth boiled, the scent of Ashe's spice combination wafted into the air. Without the constant movement, the garlic had settled on the bottom and would start to burn. The AC was still turned up to withstand a busy kitchen and was a stark contrast to the heat from the stove. 

Ashe's lips were soft against his own. 

The longest second of Dedue's life. He was hyper aware of every micro movement from Ashe. The way he let go of his breath against Dedue's face. His body slacking and slumping forward. He was too close to see clearly, but Dedue could make out pale eyelashes against freckled cheeks. The flavor from that night's dinner lingered on his lips and was drastically different from what was cooking in the pot. Dedue wondered if he tasted different to Ashe.

Dedue had grown comfortable, had gotten close. He knew what Ashe meant to him, that it was acceptable to think about him and vy for his approval and share everything he knew and to think about the next thing to say just to make him smile. It had gone from expecting Ashe to be there to hoping he would. Just to work at Ashe’s side, to create for him, was enough. 

Things like this, this surprise attack, this kiss, were not even a consideration. 

But it was here. It was happening. 

And Dedue pulled away.

As if kissed by a hot flame, Dedue jerked backwards, leaving Ashe behind. His lips had wettened and chilled in the conditioned air. The space between them not far enough, but might as well have been a canyon. 

Ashe's eyes widened. He stared with something akin to terror. A deer in headlights. He froze like that, his fingers twitching in the air, itching for something to do. He took a step back, adding to the canyon. 

"I. . ." Ashe said. 

Dedue didn't know what to say. What could he even say? What was someone supposed to say in a moment like that? 

If Ashe was the deer in headlights, Dedue had been struck. 

"I. . . I um. . " Ashe scanned the ground, looking for the words and not finding them there either. They were lodged in his throat and refused to come, refused to budge. He swallowed heavily.

The garlic started to burn. 

"Sorry," Ashe whispered. 

He reached for the spilled pot, maybe to fix it, but stopped. He took another step back. Then another. Putting distance between him and the situation. 

Dedue couldn't move, couldn't think. What was supposed to happen next? In his kitchen, he always knew what would happen next, what needed to be done. But in that moment he was lost. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. _What was it he supposed to do?_

"S-sorry," Ashe stuttered. "I'll just. . . I can just. . . Sorry." 

Ashe stumbled and all but fled out the back door. The door creaked and slammed shut, sealing the rest of the world away. Leaving Dedue to his solitude in his kitchen. He didn't know how much time had passed as he stood frozen in place, staring at the closed door. Until finally the smell of burnt filled the air.

Dedue shut off the stove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAH NERVOUS LAUGHTER HAHA
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	6. A Stupid Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue ran his fingers over his lips. 
> 
> He hoped Ashe meant it. 
> 
> He wished he hadn’t pulled away, wished he had leaned in. He wanted another one, wanted more. He wanted Ashe to explain himself, to question more, to step into another light. 
> 
> Dedue lay in bed, not sleeping, and wished and wanted. He wanted something. Something more. With Ashe. 
> 
> He couldn’t stop the smile across his lips. 
> 
> Through the muddle and the mush and the conglomeration of thoughts that roiled, a clear one came through. 
> 
> He would be with Ashe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I JUST posted a chp and I wasn't intending to post another but whoopsie doodle here we are. 
> 
> Anyways this is the last of my back log for this fic so we'll see how quickly the next chp comes. 
> 
> And thank you so much for the response for this fic!!! I'm so glad folks are enjoying this silly au 💕💕 
> 
> Bon appetit!

Dedue couldn't sleep. 

He tried. It had been a good effort. But in the end, sleep simply did not come. 

He had quietly cleaned up HKF's kitchen, shut off the lights, and locked the door. He had walked the 20 minute walk home on near silent dead streets. He'd put his unused ingredients away, went through his nightly rituals, got ready for bed, and simply did not sleep. 

Dedue stared at his ceiling fan, listened to it whir in the darkness, and only thought of Ashe's face. 

His mind worked in knots, folding over the other. Thoughts fluttered into his mind, new ideas that he hadn’t considered before. 

Intimacy wasn’t foreign to Dedue. He’d had a small handful of encounters, but nothing like this. Nothing where he had such a connection with another person. 

He’d told Ashe he was from Duscur. He _shared_ his Duscur food with Ashe. He had given Ashe that flower. And Ashe had taken it all with fascination, with excitement, with interest. He wanted to know more, he was curious, an empty vessel waiting to be filled. 

It hadn’t occurred to Dedue that Ashe felt that connection back. 

Dedue replayed the evening over and over again. How soft the inside of Ashe’s wrist was. How small he had been between Dedue’s arms. The way Ashe’s lips felt against his own, how warm he was. The way his body leaned forward and Dedue could feel the weight against him. 

Dedue hadn’t had enough time to process it all. In that moment, his relationship with the line cook had instantly changed and Ashe did not give Dedue the time to fully comprehend how. 

Dedue stared at his ceiling fan and processed what it all meant. He raised a hand to his lips and touched where Ashe had been. He replayed the kiss again. And replayed the moments after. 

Ashe had been equally surprised by his own action as Dedue had been. Or by Dedue’s response. Dedue hadn’t considered it, that Ashe had felt the same way he did. Ashe’s attention had been apparent, but where it had come from wasn’t. 

And then he ran away. Ran from Dedue. Dedue wondered what his expression had been, what he had looked like, to scare Ashe so greatly. Or had it been that he hadn’t meant to do it. Hadn’t meant to kiss.. . .

Dedue ran his fingers over his lips. 

He hoped Ashe meant it. 

He wished he hadn’t pulled away, wished he had leaned in. He wanted another one, wanted more. He wanted Ashe to explain himself, to question more, to step into another light. 

Dedue lay in bed, not sleeping, and wished and wanted. He wanted something. Something more. With Ashe. 

He couldn’t stop the smile across his lips. 

Through the muddle and the mush and the conglomeration of thoughts that roiled, a clear one came through. 

He would be with Ashe. 

It was obvious how he felt now. How Ashe felt about him. He wanted to share more, tell Ashe everything he knew, teach him everything. He wanted to tell Ashe about his family, about his home, about everything that had been stripped away from him. He wanted to tell him all the things he loved, the things he had turned away from. What he hid from, what he ran towards. His ambition. His desires. And he wanted to know Ashe. To know what was in his mind, where he came from. To hear about his time in Lonato’s kitchen, to hear about the little flowers his mother made. He wanted to see Ashe’s violets. He wanted Ashe in his kitchen, in his garden, in his arms. 

He wanted to kiss Ashe again. 

_He would be with Ashe._

Dedue rolled onto his side and smiled into the night. The clock glowed brilliantly, but he couldn’t quite see it. All he could see was Ashe’s face, his smile, how he laughed when he was delighted. Dedue curled up around himself, pulling his blanket in tight. The overwhelming bubble crawled over his skin. Adrenaline pumping through his veins as the plans began to form like new recipes. 

It wouldn’t be easy. Ashe was his employee. Dimitri may have signed the paychecks, but Dedue was in charge of Ashe’s performance, whether or not he stayed in the kitchen. It simply would not do to have a boss employee relationship tarnished with a romantic entanglement. As much as he tried, Dedue wasn’t without some public attention. He was a _’rising star’_ as one review of HKF had said. His picture had shown up in cooking magazines, on blog sites. He could already hear Mercedes’ worry about the new nature of Ashe and Dedue’s relationship. 

Even as he fretted, the thought that they had a relationship made Dedue smile wider. He tucked his chin and felt his heart race. 

There was only one thing to do. 

Ashe could no longer work at HKF. 

It would be strange if the new line cook to HKF lost his job after only working there for a few short months. It would reflect bad on him. Maybe if he stayed just a little longer until it was acceptable, but Dedue couldn’t imagine hiring a new cook who had been let go from an esteemed kitchen, why would anyone else? Whether Ashe left or if. . . if Dedue fired him. 

Dedue finally stopped smiling. He didn’t think he could do that. 

But it was _their_ decision. They would make it together. Dedue was sure what Ashe wanted. He knew it now. That kiss told Dedue everything that Ashe had kept quiet about. Even with precarious circumstances, Dedue was sure Ashe would be able to find a new job. Maybe not as prestigious or exciting as HKF, but he was an amazing cook. If anyone could do it, Ashe could. 

Together, they would decide that Ashe would no longer work at HKF and they could start a relationship together. 

The night went by in a blur. Every moment Dedue fell asleep, excitement and joy had him back up again. He dropped into the state just on the surface of dreams before his body fell back into the bed and only 15 minutes had passed. 

Dreams flitted by, where the whole morning passed and he was in the kitchen. Ashe was there, with a smile and a peel flower. Without words they shared a kiss, a longer one this time, one that Dedue didn’t pull back from. And then Dedue woke again. 

He dreamed that Ashe was in his kitchen, waiting for him. That they had been months into a relationship, that they were as comfortable as a worn sweater. 

And Dedue would wake. 

Each dream slipped in and out, all of them holding Ashe’s smile, his company, holding him. Dedue regretted waking and tried desperately to chase the dreams that ran rampant in his too busy mind.

Until finally he waited out the sun. About an hour before his alarm went off, Dedue heaved himself from bed and trudged to his porch. He moved through morning exercises using pure muscle memory, his body heavy from lack of sleep. The walk to the shower was plodding and difficult. He stood under the spray and leaned his forehead against the tile. He almost fell asleep like that, slipping against the slicked floor. His alarm went off half way through getting dressed. 

With the extra time, he could meander, as much as he didn’t want to. He made breakfast for himself, an act he rarely indulged in. It was normally a quick bar or protein shake, something he could down easily, but now he had time. 

He wondered what kind of meal he’d make for Ashe that evening. 

The garden got extra attention. Dedue took his time, watering and feeding his plants. He spent minutes, full minutes, merely sitting in front of his roses. The lone flower he had brought from his mothers garden as he fled from Duscur. So small and precious when he’d taken it. And now it was with Ashe. 

Dedue talked to the buds that would be slow growing behind his home, that would take years to achieve what their mother had. 

Ashe had called the flower a mother. Dedue would as well. 

It was still far too early for Dedue to go to work, but he made the walk. The sun came up and birds were singing. A scant cloud cover threatened to build, but Dedue was thankful for the oncoming rain. His garden would need it. He was hoping that Ashe would be there, as he was so many time, waiting on the back steps. He’d stand and smile and excitement for meal prep would be apparent on his face. 

It was so different now that Dedue knew what he knew. 

He rounded the corner a little too quickly. And couldn’t fight the disappointment. No one sat on the back steps, there was no beater car in the parking lot. Just an empty loading bay with a lone flood light illuminating the stairs in the misty grey of the morning. 

That was alright. Sometimes Dedue beat Ashe to work, this was just one of those days. He'd be along shortly. Dedue unlocked the door and went in, playing out what he could prep. In the end, he decided to focus on restaurant prep. 

After they were together, they could create their special evening meal together. 

Dedue immediately got to work, carefully chopping up vegetables, breaking down meats, slicing up the garnishes for the bar. Every minute or so, he’d look over his shoulder, half expecting the door to open. For Ashe to come to work, come to him. For that clandestine conversation to happen. 

To hold him in his arms again. Really hold him this time, not just an accident. To kiss him again, not just have one stolen. 

But Ashe didn’t come. 

The door squeaked open and Dedue whirled in place, his breath catching in his throat. 

“So I was looking at airline prices and I can’t believe they’re so cheap,” Annette said. 

“I still don’t believe you’re going,” Mercedes said, laughing behind a delicately placed hand. 

“Hey I take vacations!” Annette pouted. She finally noticed Dedue. “Good morning chef!” 

“Oh,” Dedue said. 

Annette froze in the door, eyes wide and blinking. 

“Well, thats a greeting,” she said. 

“I’m sorry.” Dedue turned back to his work. “Good morning Annette.” 

Annette snorted. Mercedes walked up to Dedue, standing on the other side of the service counter. 

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked. 

“Yes.” Dedue tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I’m just tired I suppose.” 

“You look it.” Mercedes almost looked like she would take his temperature. “No one in this place takes a day off. You could consider it?” 

“I will follow your example,” Dedue said. 

Mercedes, perpetual workaholic, like everyone else, simply smiled and retreated to her office. 

The morning passed by agonizingly slow. Dedue watched Annette move around the dining room, going over her notes, practicing memorization of what was on the new menu. She shuffled through the new printing, gingerly putting each thick stock paper in its faux leather holder. Mercedes began making phone calls. The back door opened again. 

This time, Dedue was not so quick to turn around. He waited, his back crawling with anticipation. 

Ingrid took her station. 

“Morning,” she said. 

Dedue nodded and grunted softly. 

The rest of his staff filed in one by one. Cyril, eager as ever. Caspar and Linhardt, joined at the hip. Even Sylvain was in before Ashe. 

Dedue tried not to stare at the door so expectedly. 

An hour before service and finally, _finally_ , he arrived. 

Ashe came in, marching with brisk strides to the coat rack. He took off his jacket and his back, pulling on his chef’s coat. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and there were deep smudges under his eyes. It seems that he didn’t get much sleep either. He kept his gaze down, focusing only on just the ground ahead of him. 

Dedue knew he was staring. 

“You’re late,” Ingrid chastised. 

“Sorry chef,” Ashe mumbled. 

He stood across the kitchen, his back to Dedue, his shoulders stiff. He picked up his knife, with nothing on the cutting board in front of him. Dedue could see his hand shaking, even from there. 

“Ubert,” Dedue said. 

Ashe flinched, his shoulders hiked up to his ears, his eyes squeezed shut. Dedue briskly walked past him. 

“With me,” he said, heading for the back door. 

Ashe stood frozen at his station for a long moment until finally he placed his blade back down. He kept his eyes downcast and seemed to be holding his breath. Dedue held the door open for Ashe and the line cook marched past. Curled up on himself like that, he seemed to shrink smaller into his form. 

The rain began to dribble from the sky. Thunder rolled in the distance. It was dark enough that the flood light felt the need to still be on. Dedue walked out and the door slammed shut behind him. He opened his mouth, ready to say everything that was on his mind, every thought that had kept him up late, every feeling he had, but Ashe beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry!” Ashe said, too loud. 

He turned to face Dedue, his eyes wide and terrified. Like that, Dedue could see how deep the circles were under his eyes, how pale he was. Ashe maintained eye contact, his brows knit together in worry, until he couldn’t. He stared at the ground, looking like he might hyperventilate. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry. It was. . . it was a stupid mistake. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so sorry, chef. I’m . . .” 

Dedue felt something small fall, deep within his chest. His shoulders slumped. He hadn’t realized how long he had been carrying that excited tension there until it was gone. Ashe ran a hand through his hair, pulling it up and out of his eyes, but he wouldn’t look at Dedue. 

“I don’t want to lose my job,” he whined through gritted teeth. “I . . . I can’t. I can’t not work here. I worked so hard to get here and. . .” 

He suddenly looked up at Dedue and the sheer pain in Ashe’s eyes twisted his heart. 

“I have to be a chef,” he said quickly. “Its my dream. I’ve always wanted to be a chef. I need to cook . . . I want. I need. . . This is all I’ve ever wanted for such a long time. I’ve worked so hard to get here and after Lonato. . . I can’t let him down, chef. I can’t let the road end here. If I’m not here tomorrow, I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I’m willing to fight, to show that I’m meant to be here.”

Ashe sucked in a shaking breath, his shoulders quivering. What Dedue wouldn’t give to rest his hands on those shoulders, pull him in close, try to stop that shaking. Instead, Dedue folded his arms across his chest, holding himself back. 

“I just,” Ashe said. “I don’t want to lose this job. I can’t lose this job. Over a stupid, _stupid_ mistake.” 

That ached. Like a lance to Dedue’s heart. What had turned his world upside down and completely changed him overnight was a mistake. Even if Ashe felt the same way. Thats all it was. 

Ashe finally began to settle. He sighed, looking so small and lost, his hands curled against his chest. 

“It’ll never happen again.” 

That one hurt most of all. Dedue could no longer look at Ashe, opting instead to find some interest in the cement.

“Please don’t fire me,” Ashe said, painfully quiet. 

All those plans and expectations and repeated dreams were gone. Even if it hadn’t been a mistake, even if Ashe shared Dedue’s feelings, he couldn’t ask Ashe to give up his dream. He couldn’t ask Ashe to leave, even if it would be for them. He wanted to be selfish, wanted to have Ashe all to himself. But Ashe deserved the world and Dedue selfishly wanted to give it to him. 

Something had to be sacrificed. 

Dedue’s eyes trailed across the ground. It was speckled from the drizzle of rain. The wet was cool on the back of his neck, killing the last of the heat from the kitchen. He inhaled deep. 

“Okay,” he said with a slow nod. 

Ashe looked up slowly, his eyes wide. 

“Okay,” Dedue said again. “I’m not going to fire you.” 

Dedue had hoped Ashe would looked pleased, but he only looked more hurt. His hands tightened around one another, pressing hard against his chest. Dedue couldn’t look at him. He instead went for the door. 

“See that it doesn’t happen again,” Dedue said. No matter how much he wanted it to.

Ashe looked down. 

“Right,” he said. 

Dedue opened up the back door. The kitchen was heating up and for once the warmth felt sickly on Dedue’s skin. He held the door open expectantly, but Ashe didn’t move. Only stood in place, hands limp at his sides, staring down at his shoes. The rain had begun to dampen his hair and the longer strands clung to his cheeks. Dedue sighed, looking away. 

“Back to work,” he said. 

“Yes chef,” Ashe said quietly. 

He walked past Dedue, eyes still downcast, and didn’t look back. Dedue stood in his spot, not sure where to move next. He went back into his kitchen. 

It was all he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	7. New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue stood in HKF's parking lot, loathing the new normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I like to have a backlog and have at least a chapter ready to go when I post a new chapter. 
> 
> Uuuhhh welll. . . I finished this chapter today so we're uhm. . . we're doing that then. 
> 
> Hopefully I can keep the ball a rolling bc man this fic is a big boy. 
> 
> AND SPEAKING OF:

Dedue stood in HKF's parking lot, loathing the new normal. 

The old beater sat parked in its normal space. It stood to reason, its owner was inside. And why wouldn’t he be? Work technically started in 5 minutes. 

Gone was the sanctuary of Dedue’s alone time in his kitchen. A self ostracization had been put in place. He meandered into work long past sunrise, technically right on time. Just in time to see Cyril speed walking from the bus stop. 

The day after their clandestine conversation, Ashe had come in stereotypically early, before the rest of Dedue’s staff arrived. He had froze in the doorway, simply staring, and trying to figure out how to properly assess the situation. He couldn’t turn and leave, pretending nothing was wrong and he shouldn’t be there. In his place of work. But staying seemed just as worse. 

Dedue made a decision for him and turned around, once again working on prep. Ashe took a station, back to back with Dedue. 

“Morning, chef,” he had mumbled, just to be polite. 

“Good morning,” Dedue had said back. Just to be polite. 

The sheer awkwardness of unsaid words hung heavy and suffocating, like a large damp blanket, weighing them down. 

There were a few days where Dedue tried to come later, earlier, anything to avoid him. Ashe seemed to be doing the same, trying to find that sweet spot where they wouldn’t be left alone together. What was once a daily occurrence that Dedue had perpetually looked forward too, suddenly became a source of cruel discomfort. A bane on Dedue’s day, week, and eventually, month. 

He took the lead and began coming into work right on time. He hoped Ashe would pick up on it, come to the HKF kitchen in those early hours rather than later. A good employee vs Dedue’s new found punctuality. 

The daily sight of his car told Dedue Ashe had figured out the silent agreement. Of course he had. He was clever and observant and all those things that Dedue liked about him. 

And so, Dedue did his off hours cooking from home. 

It lacked all the comforts of high end equipment, constant supply of emergency ingredients, the hours alone in his restaurant quality kitchen, but it was somewhat of a blessing in disguise. Something about cooking the meals from his childhood at his less than perfect home kitchen added a quality to his food that HKF couldn’t quite replicate. 

He briefly wondered why he stopped cooking at home in the first place. 

Oh that's right. 

Ashe. 

Dedue stared at the car, at the rust on its sides and the tire that seemed perpetually flat. Cared for as much as one could with a very used vehicle. He wanted to ask Ashe about the flower from Duscur, about his cooking, about the siblings he hinted at or the mother who made him orange peel roses. He wanted to ask Ashe how he was doing, how he was faring, if he was okay. 

Dedue wished he could talk to Ashe. 

Muted laughter came from the otherside of the thick kitchen door. The scent of cooked food wafted, even to the parking lot. Dedue realized he was a minute late. Heaving a heavy sigh, he trudged to the haven that had once made him feel safe. 

A cluster of chefs were gathered around one station, the sounds of metal clanking against metal ringing out and filling the space. Annette and Mercedes stood on the safe side of the counters, leaning in to watch. Sylvain and Linhardt hovered close, looking over shoulders. The cacophony even had Cyril’s attention, the porter frozen in place, watching the events unfold. 

In the center of the crowd, Ingrid, Caspar, and Ashe stood, hunched over their own bowls, whisking as quickly as possible. Flecks of white flew out of Caspar’s bowl, hitting him in the face, but it did not stop the determination in his eyes, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration. Ashe tried to keep up and whined, throwing his head back in blissful pain, his arm clearly aching. Ingrid worked in a business like fashion and Dedue knew there was no stopping her. There was the scent of cooked food in the air, but cooking was clearly not what they were doing. 

They were whipping egg whites by hand. 

Sylvain laughed at Ashe’s pain and hopped over to practically loom over Dedue’s sous chef. 

“Ooooh you’re gonna lose,” he said, sing song to Ingrid. 

“Shut up, Sylvain,” she ground back. 

“I mean, even Ashe is further along than you and he’s got string beans for arms.” 

“Hey,” Ashe whined, stopping for a moment before remembering what he was doing. 

Ingrid’s head jerked, sparing a glance to her competition, before doubling down. Sylvain rested his hands on her shoulders, as if giving her a massage, and Dedue could _hear_ her growl from there. 

“Not like you, guns of steel,” he said. 

“Shut _up_ , Sylvain,” she snarled. She jerked her elbow high and quick, almost clocking Sylvain in the face, but the bartender danced out of the way before violence could ensue. 

“Caspar might win,” Linhardt said. 

“Thats because half of his is on the floor,” Cyril said, already going for a rag to clean it up. “He’s got less to whip.” 

“We could make meringue,” Mercedes said airly. She leaned against her palms, watching the still wet egg white fly from Caspar’s bowl. 

“Ingrid will just eat it all,” Sylvain said. 

Ingrid whirled in place, brandishing her whisk like a weapon.

“ _Shut up, Sylv–_ ” 

Her eyes met Dedue’s and she froze. The woman was an open book and embarrassment spread over her face, suddenly ashamed to be participating in such a juvenile act. Linhardt lazily looked over. 

“Oh hey chef,” he said. 

Caspar balked and dropped his bowl to the ground with a clatter. Ashe looked over his shoulder, equally as shocked as the rest of them, but didn’t stop whisking. 

Annette shot him a wide grin and leaned back on her heels, holding onto the service table. 

“Good morning chef,” she said. 

Dedue’s gaze slid from her to the rest of his brigade. 

“Clean up,” he said in his typical flat tone. “And get ready for prep.” 

“Yes chef,” came the efficient chorus of his team. 

Annette cleared her throat, comically loud. Her eyes were wide and she cocked her head. 

“ _Good morning, Dedue_ ,” she said again, silently informing him that he was doing it again. Behaviour that was apparent to her, where Dedue was closed off and quiet, efficient with his words and enjoying silences over the amicable chatter of company. 

When he was being _’rude’_. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

He pulled off his coat, hardly needed anymore as the weather warmed, and slipped on his chef’s jacket. He was half way through snapping buttons into place when Annette appeared at his side. She stared up at him, brows raised in silent question. Dedue didn’t answer. He didn’t give her a second glance and enjoyed his silence. Even if it was ‘rude.’

“Someone’s in a mood,” she said quietly. 

He’d been in a mood for the last month. 

“Fine,” Annette said when he still didn’t respond. “You and Dimitri can be grumps together.” 

“Dimitri’s back?” Dedue asked. 

“Yeah.” Annette threw a thumb over her shoulder to the dining room. “He’s either got a migraine or hasn’t slept in 3 days. Or both.” 

Dedue could see the hunched over form of his boss sitting in one of the booths, leaning against the table, fingers rubbing circles into his temples. Dedue hummed in quiet contemplation. 

“Probably both.” Annette looked sidelong up at Dedue. “He wants to have a chat with you.” 

“Hmm,” Dedue said and snapped the last closure on his jacket. “Alright.” 

The kitchen was revving up to full swing. Caspar and Cyril were in a silent competition on who could clean up his mess the fastest. Stocks were starting their boil and Linhardt yawned over them, hair not yet pulled back. Ashe was cleaning up his station, not moving in a particularly quick fashion. Sylvain was leaning over the counter, gently pulling a plate closer. 

“I mean, if you’re not going to finish it,” he said coyly. 

Dedue recognized it as the source of the smell. That someone had been cooking in his kitchen. Something that he knew well. Something that could’ve come from his home. 

A wok sat tilted in the deep kitchen sink, the handle sticking out like a mast. It wasn’t the pan that had been specifically made for Duscur cuisine, but it would’ve done well in a pinch. The scent in the air was of a combination of spices and Dedue was pretty sure they were missing the special order ingredients. The plate was arranged with restaurant level quality, but the contents were still unmistakeable. 

Dedue was staring. 

Ashe’s eyes darted to him, aware of Dedue, but to his credit he didn’t back down. 

“Its just practice,” Ashe said to Sylvain and Dedue recognized it was for him too. Whether as an excuse or an apology, he did not know.

Sylvain took the plate and perched it in his lap, taking bites of a meal that was meant for a different time of day. 

“Mmm man, I’m gonna eat all your practice,” he said. “Holy shit.”

Before Ashe could glance in his direction again, Dedue entered the dining room. It was alright that Ashe was still cooking the foods Dedue taught him. At least, thats what Dedue told himself. On repeat. Until he believed it. 

Emotions raged into an unintelligible blur and he didn’t know which one to latch on to. He was upset that Ashe was cooking _his_ food. Those recipes were his, they belonged to him. But he had shared them with Ashe. He was flattered, pleased, that Ashe still felt the need to chase down that knowledge. That there was still some tenuous connection between them. He wanted Ashe to keep learning, to keep making his food. 

That maybe Ashe’s feelings were still there, still expressed through what he made. 

Feelings that Dedue still had yet to set aside. 

He stopped in the middle of the darkened room, his arms limp at his sides, and suddenly felt so very heavy. 

“Dedue?” 

To the untrained eye, Dimitri looked like he was scowling. He glared through squinted eyes, the corner of his lip pulled up in a sneer. 

It wasn’t malice. It was simply pain. 

“Hello sir,” Dedue said, approaching the table. “How was your trip?” 

Dimitri opened his mouth, to once again request the impossible from Dedue, sighed, and closed it again. 

“Fine,” he lied. Then pressed his mouth into a thin line and stared at the soothing decor on the walls. “Not fine.” He went back to rubbing the side of his head. “Family.” 

“Ah,” Dedue said, understanding. “Did she open another location?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dimitri said. 

“Very well,” Dedue said. 

Knowing full well Dedue wouldn’t move until indicated, Dimitri gestured to the seat on the other side of the booth. Dedue slid in. There had been a half running joke that Dedue was the measuring stick for determining the spaces in the booth seats, that he was the max size. It resulted in comfortable seating for Dedue, so he didn’t mind. 

“How have you been?” Dimitri asked with a weak smile. 

Dedue paused. He looked off to the side and breathed in deep. He didn’t particularly like lying to Dimitri. 

“Well,” he said. 

Dimitri’s smile faded. He sat up a little straighter. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

Dedue nodded. That seemed to satiate his boss. He smiled again and managed to sit upright. 

“Well, I do have some good news,” he said. “. . . Or bad news. Your mileage may vary.” 

“Yes?” 

“I pulled some strings and invited the critic I wanted.” Dimitri leaned against his palm, his smile smooshed up against his face. “Rhea.” 

Dedue sat up a little straighter. 

“Rhea?” he repeated. 

“Mmhmm.” Dimitri sagged further into his palm. “HKF is a little too old for her at this point, but its picking up in notoriety and I . . . threw around my family name a little bit. _Despite_ circumstantial reputations.” 

Dedue stared down his boss. His hands folded on the table and the interlocking fingers squeezed a little tight. 

“She’s found time in her schedule for next month,” Dimitri said. “What do you think?”

What did he think? Dedue thought he didn’t need the additional stress right then. That he needed more time to get his head on straight. That he needed to pull his mind from the clouds, away from Ashe, and focus once again on what made him who he was. 

Maybe, in the end, like cooking from home, this would be a good thing. 

“I think it will be good for the restaurant,” he said. “And that Cyril will be happy.” 

Dimitri snorted. 

“Yeah I figured he would, he’s such a fanboy,” he said. 

He examined his chef, once again trying to read the unreadable man. 

“You’ll make HKF look great,” he said. 

“There’s more to HKF than just my cooking,” Dedue said. 

“Yeah.” Dimitri finally sat up straight, his back popping as he stretched. “But thats not why someone like Rhea comes around.” 

“I’ll keep that in consideration,” Dedue said. “I’ll work with Ingrid and Sylvain adjusting our menu to something more appropriate to her visit. I could possibly pull out best sellers from previous seasons?” 

“Mmhmm,” Dimitri said. “Or maybe something new?” 

“Did you have something in mind, sir?” 

Dimitri laughed under his breath. 

“For the last time: I’m not the chef,” he said. “I trust you.” 

“Mm,” Dedue grunted. He filed away Dimitri’s annoyance at asking for his opinion. 

Dedue’s hands tightened. He tried to maintain eye contact but instead dropped his eyes to his hands. Slowly, he eased up his death grip and blood returned to his knuckles. With some conviction, he slid out of the perfectly sized booth. 

“I should tell the brigade,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Dimitri said, his voice fading. As Dedue walked off, he called after him, “Good to see you!” 

“You as well,” Dedue said with a curt nod and barely a look over his shoulder. 

Stepping back into the heat of his kitchen gave the promise of the familiar. Dedue looked over his kitchen and his team, taking it in, before calling them to attention. He was never one for long announcements, over flowery metaphors, or emotional build up. 

He dropped the news like a brick.

“Next month, the critic Rhea will be coming to HKF.” 

At first, he only received still, silent, glassy eyed stares. Recognition slowly went over the cooks faces like a flowing wave. They stared at their head chef, waiting for further explanation. 

Cyril was the first to move. He pulled in two fists and whispered a quiet _’yes’_. 

“Huh,” Linhardt said, managing to look mildly impressed. 

“A specialized menu will be created,” Dedue said. “Hopefully, come the night in question, it will be none of your concern, but I will trust you to learn it in case of an outlining emergency.” 

Caspar and Ashe’s heads nodded in zombie-like unison. Ingrid simply folded her arms across her chest, already ready for whatever came her way. Dedue watched his cooks for another long moment. 

“That is all,” he said. “Service is in an hour. Back to work.” 

The team dispersed, falling into their respective roles, half scrambling to do so. Dedue moved through them like a shark, looking over their work as he passed by. He settled into his spot at the pass. Ingrid was quick to move to his side, keeping busy as she did so, her plaited hair already pinned to her head, in work mode. She rubbed a towel over her knife and stared him down. Purely as a reaction to her offensive nature, Dedue crossed his arms over his chest to match. As they had always done since he’d known the woman. 

“Any plans yet, chef?” she asked, knowing how quick his mind moved. 

“Working on it,” he said. “We might want to pull out the cut from winter.” 

“Will that be too heavy?” she asked. 

Dedue mulled on that. He’d have to do research, look into Rhea’s past favorable reviews. Maybe not too closely. Any repetition from past chefs would definitely not be in their favor. Possibly looking back on not just what was a best seller among the public, but what had reviewed well with other critics. Certainly not critics of Rhea’s renowned, but still. 

“Behind!” 

Ashe side stepped behind Ingrid and Dedue, dancing his way towards the walk in fridge. 

Just like that, distraction came crashing back. Dedue’s eyes trailed, watching him go, and not deviating. His crossed arms slowly loosened, the mounting tension on the back of his neck ebbing away. 

Ashe moved with an odd sort of grace. He was light on his feet and it made him quick. Almost like magic, he could move from one end of the kitchen to the other with impossible speed. The way he flitted from one station to the next, quick to change gears, quick to change his next goal. 

Dedue lingered on that moment again, when Ashe’s goal had changed so quickly. He tried to recall how Ashe’s lips felt against his own. He wanted to go back, to capture that sensation and keep it locked away in the back of his mind. 

“Chef?” Ingrid asked. 

Dedue breathed in deep, coming out of his reverie, and turned back to his sous chef, as if just noticing her. 

“Perhaps,” he said. 

The knife in her hands was plenty clean and gleamed with her fierce intentions to her meat station. 

“Something new maybe?” she asked, as Dimitri had. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dedue caught the ghostly figure of Ashe stepping out of the fridge, his arms full of tuna from that morning’s procurement. His hurried scuttle paused and Dedue could practically feel those cool eyes. He turned his head to meet them. 

“Maybe,” he said. “We’ll see.” 

Ashe’s grip tightened around the big fish in his arms and if he wasn’t careful he might damage the meat. A smile spread across his face, slow and completely unintentional. He probably wasn’t aware he was doing so. Dedue recognized it though. It had been a while since he’d seen it. 

There was that stressor again. There was that distraction. 

Ashe was faster to regain himself than Dedue was and took purposeful strides back to the kitchen. Dedue’s eyes followed him. 

Annette poked her head into the kitchen. 

“Ingrid,” she practically sang, drawing the name out. 

Ingrid rolled her eyes and clanged the knife to the counter. She leaned around Dedue to get a better view. 

“What?” she asked. 

“Come here,” Annette said, moving her fingers in a come hither motion. 

“Is this work related?” Ingrid asked. 

“Mmmmmaybe.” Annette grinned. “Okay kinda. Sorta. It kind of is. Come on.” 

Ingrid huffed and threw the towel on top of the knife. 

“I swear to god if she’s gonna ‘touch up’ my mascara again. . .” she grumbled as she marched past. 

Dedue watched her go and for the first time that morning felt an inkling of brevity. He picked up the discarded towel and ran it over the service counter, removing it of any invisible debris. Making sure his pass was pristine come service. Dedue’s mind raced, planning and picking out ideas that would best represent HKF and Dimitri. Hopefully exciting without being too left of field. 

Something new. . .

For a moment, everything felt as it ought to be. Everything was secure and status quo again. 

He was in the process of pulling up plates when his mental machinations were interrupted. 

“Behind you chef.” 

Far more polite and less hurried this time. Ashe wasn’t squeezing behind to get somewhere, but instead alerting Dedue to his presence, trying not to be a surprise. 

He would always fail in that regard. 

He picked up Ingrid’s discarded knife and held it with far less menace. Less like a knife and more the gentle care he would a flower. A pleasant smile crossed his face, aimed at Dedue for the first time in weeks. Dedue’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Yes?” he asked, trying not to betray what he was thinking. He was thankful for his unreadable monotone. 

Ashe opened his mouth, looking like he might say something. He closed it again, thinking of the words, before his smile widened. That familiar one Dedue used to see day after day. Admiration combined with excitement, a joy at merely being in Dedue’s kitchen, being around Dedue himself. 

Dedue knew _exactly_ what it meant now. 

“I look forward to the menu you create,” he finally said. 

Ashe might as well have struck him in the sternum, knocking the wind out of his chest. They had been avoiding each other, trying not to speak more than what was needed for work or what was polite. He had become unused to Ashe’s compliments, his unwavering faith in Dedue and his cooking. 

All his planning and ideas came to a screeching halt. A clog built up in the back of his throat. Once again he was distracted, his mind empty save for once again trying to replay that single moment and came up wanting. 

Dedue examined the line cook. His gaze traveled over Ashe’s face, focusing on those forgotten lips for the briefest of seconds. 

It was hard to hold any flattery, any pride that a comment like that would once generate. He needed to focus, to let these feelings go, and slip back into business as usual. He needed to create that menu that Ashe wanted to see. No, for Rhea. Not Ashe. 

Dedue wished he could talk to Ashe. 

Instead, Dedue simply went back to his task and focused on what was supposed to be important. 

Ashe didn’t move. Out of the corner of his vision, Dedue could see his chin slowly lower. That smile wavered, slowly fading as Ashe examined his shoes. Slowly, he turned and shuffled away, returning to work as Dedue had. 

Dedue gently placed the small sauce dishes to the side and refocused, attempting and failing to put Ashe out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH I JUST WANT TO GET THROUGH THESE SAD CHAPTERS STOP BEING SAD DANGIT
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	8. The Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe sat at Sylvain’s bar. He had one foot propped up on the bars of the stool, the other bouncing his toes on the floor. He leaned against his palm, his face bright and smiling in the way Dedue had grown used to seeing day in and day out. He laughed at something Sylvain said, silent from the kitchen side of the glass. Strands of hair dropped out of his already slipping hair clip and Sylvain leaned across his bar to tuck Ashe’s hair behind his ear. 
> 
> Dedue knew that move. He’d seen that move before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may notice that I changed the chapter count to ?? 
> 
> Yeah I uh. . . well I felt there needed to be more character beats, more set up, maybe a little more of this here and there, combine these chapters. Yeah. Well. Sorry I guess. Writing amirite?

“One halibut, two steak, one pasta, heard?” 

“Heard!” three voices called back.

“Linhardt!” 

“Heard chef, heard! Geez.” 

“Behind you chef,” Ingrid said, sliding in behind Dedue with two plates, one in each hand. 

Dedue touch tested the temperature, added garnish and put them under the heat lamps. 

“Meat dying on pass!” he called back. 

“Here, chef!” Capsar shouted, bringing a tray of heirloom potatoes to the pass. 

Dedue dressed the plates just as Annette practically ran back in. 

“Order,” he told her. 

She slipped another plate back to Dedue. 

“Needs a refire,” she said, practically out of breath. “The customer says the cook is _still_ too under done.” 

“The customer can suck my–” 

“Ingrid!” Dedue shouted. “Refire.” 

“One grey steak coming right the hell up,” his sous chef grumbled, going for another steak. She had 4 already in front of her, juggling each with their own temperature. 

“Halibut in 5,” Ashe shouted. 

“Give me 4!” Ingrid shouted back. 

“What!?” Linhardt called over all of them, before turning up the heat on the pasta water. 

They were in the weeds. What should have been a quiet weekday night had unexpectedly ramped up into a full on skirmish. The kitchen was a cacophonous symphony of clanging pots and hissing sizzle. Every one of Dedue’s chefs were running, sweating, _working_. In a lesser kitchen, it would have been filled with stress and worry, but Dedue found peace within the fray. It was a battle, struggling against the line of tickets upon tickets as they came in, felling them like foes, one by one in quick succession. Leading his army into the charge. 

The reason Dedue had been so scrutinous of who he allowed on to his brigade was for moments such as this. Ingrid had always been a beast in the kitchen, even if she became a little surly when the going got tough. She flew through her orders with grace and accuracy. Caspar was an unstoppable tank. Even Linhardt, who would protest at every turn, performed admirably. 

And his newest recruit. . . 

“Halibut walking!” Ashe called out. 

“Walking,” Ingrid followed. 

“Fuck,” Linhardt swore. “30 seconds!” 

Ingrid placed her steak down and went right back to her station not a second later, but the fish slid next to the meat on its own little platter without much more. Dedue could feel Ashe’s presence behind him like a ghost. The mere awareness hotter against his back than the kitchen itself. He felt a droplet of sweat run down the back of his neck and wondered which stressor it came from. 

“Behind,” Linhardt gasped, bringing his pasta up to the pass. 

Dedue glanced over his shoulder to see Linhardt scuttle back to his station and Ashe. 

Still standing there. 

His hand slowly recoiled, still moving as if it had _just_ delivered his fish. He stared up at Dedue, expectation evident in his eyes, waiting for some kind of reprimand, praise, feed back, _anything_ on the fish’s cook. Something that Dedue didn’t have for him, shouldn’t have to give him. 

Wanted so desperately to give him. 

“Go,” he said flatly and turned back to his pass. 

“Yes chef,” Ashe said and it was almost lost under the din of the kitchen. 

“Caspar! Sides!” 

“Coming chef!” 

On and on the kitchen went like that. Dedue called out orders until his throat scratched. Annette and her waitstaff ran in and out in a flurry of aprons and perfectly shined shoes. Each order from his pass was answered dutifully by his brigade. They kept up with the flow, regaining ground after that initial rush. The push driving each and every member of that kitchen to their very best. 

Dedue was hyper aware every time Ashe came to his pass. Each ‘yes chef’ haunted him. 

Putting Ashe out of his mind was proving difficult when he saw him each and every day. He knew he should. He knew it was for the best. But he found himself lying in bed, trying desperately to remember what that stolen kiss had felt like, if Ashe had made any noise, what was the flavor behind the food Ashe had tasted. Dedue would be cooking a homemade dinner, longing that he had committed the feel of Ashe’s wrists to memory. Soft skin that fit so well in his grip. Why hadn’t he been more attentive? He tried to shake those thoughts off, banish them from his mind, but in quiet idle corners they dwelled, waiting to torment him once again. 

Dedue tried not to watch Ashe as he cooked. His eyes would travel to Ingrid, her hair falling out of her braids and she blew it out of her eyes, only for it to stick to her forehead. Linhardt threw his head back in frustration, rocking it back and forth to crack his neck. Ashe looked up when Dedue’s eyes inevitably wandered over. 

Dedue’s traitorous mind replayed the way Ashe leaned back in his arms.

He turned quickly, knowing he’d been caught. 

The rush died down and the night crept to a close. Ashe worked on his desserts, sprinkling sugar glass dust over his berry compote. Linhardt sat on the floor, head rocked back against the stainless steel. Caspar sat down next to him, kicked off his crocs, and gave his friend a bottle of water. 

The restaurant closed. The last patrons took their time with digestifs and their bills sitting on the table, enjoying their quiet conversation and the atmosphere. Cyril was already working diligently on cleaning the kitchen and Caspar coaxed a sleeping Linhardt off the floor. Ashe had stepped outside for some air and had yet to come back in. 

Once again, Dedue’s eyes unwillingly searched for him. 

Ashe sat at Sylvain’s bar. He had one foot propped up on the bars of the stool, the other bouncing his toes on the floor. He leaned against his palm, his face bright and smiling in the way Dedue had grown used to seeing day in and day out. He laughed at something Sylvain said, silent from the kitchen side of the glass. Strands of hair dropped out of his already slipping hair clip and Sylvain leaned across his bar to tuck Ashe’s hair behind his ear. 

Dedue knew that move. He’d seen that move before. 

It was the move Sylvain did when there was an attractive so and so sitting at his bar and had caught his attention. It was the move Sylvain did after a sly flirtatious joke. The move he did before he dug in deeper, sunk his claws in, and asked if maybe, just _maybe_ , they’d come home with him. 

Dedue’s blood ran cold. The sponge in his grip was squeezed tight, the water gushing out of it and going bone dry. He could hear his breathing pick up from his nose. 

Ashe’s smile went lopsided and he leaned further into his palm. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. No one else was supposed to notice Ashe, his kindness and gentleness. The phrases and compliments that came in small bursts of surprise. The gestures that denoted a kindness that most had to work hard for. Only Dedue was supposed to notice those things. 

Ashe wasn’t supposed to be the attractive someone at Sylvain’s bar. 

Besides, the bartender was a purely superficial creature. He wasn’t the type to notice such things as personality and humor and sympathetic natures and generosity. He only went in for the looks. Theoretically. 

But it wasn’t like Ashe wasn’t . . . pretty. 

Dedue had already admitted it to himself long ago that on top of all of the wonderful things that made up his line cook, he was, as Annette had said, pretty cute. His hair looked soft and the up turn of his nose was simply adorable, especially when it crinkled as he laughed. His bright eyes that Dedue got lost in, the freckles Dedue wanted to count. 

But Sylvain would notice other things. Things that Dedue hadn’t cataloged before. How Ashe wasn’t tall per say, but his legs were long and lean. His talented fingers drummed across the bar top, good for so much more than cooking. His neck was long and pale and freckles kissed the back of it. His back curved pleasantly, his chefs jacket taut against shoulder blades and dipping into a slim waist that Dedue could wrap his hands around. 

These were all things Sylvain would notice. Which was the _only_ reason Dedue was staring at them just then. 

He dropped the sponge in the little puddle that had gathered on the countertop. 

“Dedue?” 

Dedue turned and found Annette standing in the door. A small smile donned her face, somewhere between worry and amusement. 

“Where’d you go?” she asked. 

Dedue looked around his kitchen, his eyes darting briefly, silently indicating where he was. She chuffed once, the laugh jolting her shoulders. 

“We’re all going to head out to the Golden Deer for some drinks and greasy food,” she said, pointing vaguely over her shoulder at who ‘we’re all’ was. “Want to come?” 

“I. . . um. . .” 

Dedue glanced at the gratuitous and obvious flirting happening in the dining room. Sylvain brushed his thumb over Ashe’s chin and Ashe laughed fetchingly. Dedue could think of twenty different ways to remove and serve that thumb. 

“He’s coming,” Ingrid spoke for Dedue. 

“I am?” Dedue asked, eyes painfully sliding from the obscene scene at the bar. 

“It's not like you’re doing anything else,” she said. 

“It’ll make Dimitri happy,” Annette sang. “He’s meeting us there.” 

Dedue looked around the kitchen, looking for a good out. 

“I got this,” Cyril said, picking up the sponge that Dedue dropped. “Don’t worry about the kitchen, chef, it’ll be spic and span in no time at all.” 

As he went off, Annette shook her head, hands on her hips.

“Pretty sure that boy doesn’t sleep,” she said. 

The door flew open and almost hit Annette. Ashe was laughing over his shoulder, looking back into the dining room, and almost missed running right into the head waitress. 

"Oh! Sorry," he said mid laugh without missing a step. 

"Someone's in a hurry," she said, joining in on his humor. 

Ashe shrugged and began popping the buttons of his chef's coat. 

"Well we're all headed out for drinks," Annette said. "Wanna come?" 

"I uh. . ." Ashe quickly glanced, but stopped himself before he could meet Dedue's unwavering stare. "Sylvain told me about this really nice bar downtown, Imbibe I think?" 

"Oooh?" Annette said with a knowing smile. 

"Yeah we were going to go there." Ashe shrugged on his usual light weather jacket, good for fighting against the near constant drizzle. "Is that where you're going?" 

"No, too rich for my blood," Annette said. "But you kids have fun." 

She turned her smile to Dedue, waiting for _his_ answer to the question, not content with Ingrid's volunteering. Dedue glanced to Ashe. His night could be spent sulking at home or showing up. At least Dimitri would be happy. He sighed and nodded, not given much other choice. 

"Alright, it's settled." She clasped her hands together in delight. "I'll let Claude know he's got a party coming." 

Annette stepped back out into the dining room to gather up any remaining waitstaff. Ingrid was busy getting herself ready. Cyril was immersed in cleaning. Caspar and Linhardt had already left. Once again, leaving Dedue alone with Ashe. 

Ashe hiked his bag up his shoulder and seemed to be making a point to keep his focus anywhere but Dedue. He seemed so happy, so excited. A willing, innocent prey heading right into the lion's den. He didn't know the terrible trouble he was signing up for, the night ahead of him. 

Ashe wasn't that person. 

But Sylvain was. 

He briskly walked past his head chef and would've made it to the door if Dedue hadn't spoke up. 

"He has a reputation." 

Ashe froze, eyes wide in confusion, finally looking at Dedue. It had been weeks since Ashe had last looked at Dedue like that, like he'd been so unsure. 

Comprehension slowly settled on the line cook. His shoulders relaxed and his mouth settled into a thin line. He stood up straighter, an ice cold confidence in his eyes. 

"I know," he said. 

That, more than anything, boiled Dedue's blood. 

He knew. He knew what he was getting into. 

Ashe spared Dedue one last look, not even a blink, before disappearing through the dining room door. Sylvain leaned against his bar, poking at his phone, and lit up when Ashe approached. That wasn't right, it was against some law somewhere. No one else was supposed to be that happy about Ashe. Not if Dedue couldn't be. 

They walked out of HKF side by side. Dedue waited for Ashe to look back. He didn't. 

"If you go to Claude's in an HKF jacket, Hilda may kill you." Ingrid appeared behind him. 

Still trying to comprehend how words worked, Dedue said nothing. Ingrid eyed him, looking him up and down. He followed her gaze to the green mystery stain in the middle of his chest. 

"Change, stupid," she said. A leftover from their tenuous beginnings at college, turned playful banter. He hoped. 

Dedue pulled at his buttons until Ingrid was satisfied enough to walk away. 

A distraction might be good. 

The group of them left as a gaggle and walked the few short blocks to the Golden Deer. Idle chatter surrounded Dedue, but he couldn't seem to focus on any one conversation. Annette bemoaned about her aching feet and how her inserts weren't working. A couple across the street distracted Dedue. Two of the waiters went on about the latest movie they saw. Dedue wondered what it would be like to see Ashe in public. Mercedes gave Ingrid careful and probably unwanted advice about skin care. How far away was Imbibe anyways? 

Felix and Dimitri waited at the bar in the far back. Dimitri waved enthusiastically. Felix sipped from his beer and pretended not to see anyone. Dedue had to walk sideways to squeeze through the tightly packed, inebriated crowd. The music was loud and the united sound of intelligible laughing conversation fought against it. The noise level must have been against some code, but in that low ceiling, packed to the gills place, no one seemed to care. 

Dedue kept searching, his head jerking in tight starts, just in case he saw a familiar face. His heart leapt, paranoid at the mere prospect of it. 

Dimitri picked up his and Felix's jackets off two stools they managed to secure, which Ingrid and Dedue gratefully took. The rest of the group were relegated to the standing room in the back. Annette gave her husband a sound, gregarious kiss on the cheek that lasted just a second too long, complete with and enthusiastic _'muah'_. In his normal standard, Felix grumbled but made no move to pull away until she was finished. 

The bartender expertly moved from shouting patron to shouting patron, no matter the decibel level or intoxication. Despite being the owner, Claude took pride in working at his bar and seemed right at home there. A real man of the people, Dimitri had said. 

Fries and fried pickles and fried onions and fried anything were passed along the HKF staff. A glass of a table red was placed in front of Dedue, the bottle finished off between the four seated at the bar. 

The noise around Dedue blended together into static. The setting no longer mattered, fading into a smudge of color. Those around him left Dedue in his typical silent state. 

Leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

Ashe went with Sylvain. Ashe was alone with Sylvain in some bar in the city. Ashe left with Sylvain _knowing full well._

It wasn’t fair to Sylvain, Dedue knew that. The cruel thoughts that raced through his head, the ill wishes he cast upon his friend. Shame stewed under the burbling ire, but he couldn’t help it. The man had swooped in and taken the one thing he wanted. _It wasn’t fair!_ The rampant jealousy built up in Dedue like a cyclone.

Dedue ruminated, stewing in the order of events that he just _knew_ was going on. 

They were talking. Of course they were. Sylvain had a silver tongue, he could flirt his way out of a paper bag. And Ashe. Well Ashe was naturally friendly. He could find common ground with just about anyone. He found something to talk about with Dedue after all. 

Dedue took a large pull from his wine. 

They were talking and Sylvain would find some way to touch Ashe. Brush his hair out of his eyes again, maybe his thumb across Ashe's cheek. Maybe he'd find a way to rest his hand on top of Ashe's, touch the inside of the wrist Dedue couldn't remember. 

What if Ashe touched back? 

Dedue's glass was empty. 

"This is just like when you were at Garreg Mach," Dimitri said, signaling for another bottle. 

"Let's hope not," Ingrid laughed into her glass. 

There had been rough nights back at culinary school, but Dedue had rarely participated in the revelry. Dimitri would try to coax him, when he came for his visits. 

Dedue remembered what people turned into when they drank. 

As the night went on, Ashe might turn into one such person. Who was he when under the influence? Would he need help getting home? What if Sylvain took advantage of his state? 

What if Ashe wanted that?

Maybe, being the gentleman he sometimes proved to be, Sylvain would walk Ashe home. Or, more likely, he'd invite Ashe to his apartment. They'd stumble together, Ashe small enough to tuck under Sylvain's arm. They'd stand outside Sylvain’s or Ashe's place, staring each other down, expectant and smiling and enjoying an already good evening. 

Sylvain was better than Dedue at these things. He wouldn't pull away, he wouldn't be surprised. He'd lean in close. He'd tilt his head, closer still. He'd steal a kiss, steal what had been Dedue's, even if only for a little while. 

"More?" 

Claude leaned against the bar, wiggling a half empty bottle in the air. 

Dedue's cup was dry once more. 

"Oh," he said and pushed the glass across the counter. "Yes." 

Knowing Sylvain, it wouldn't be a simple kiss good night. If they ended up at Sylvain's apartment, they were definitely going up. But what if they went to Ashe's? 

The way he had said _'I know'_ still rang in Dedue's mind. 

He was going to invite Sylvain inside. 

The glass ground against the bar as Dedue tightened his grip on it and twisted it in place. 

It wouldn't be some simple thing. Not an invitation that maybe Sylvain sleep off the drink on his couch. Oh no. They would be all over each other, a flurry of hands and kisses and drunken stumbles. Ashe would laugh through it, more than just a polite laugh. Maybe the same laugh he used to do on those early morning cooks. Quiet and shy and under his breath or genuine and full of mirth and trying so hard not to be too loud. 

Dedue missed them all. 

It was all too simple to picture. The way Sylvain would remove Ashe's jacket, his shirt, his pants. Pale skin revealed bit by bit, covered in a smattering of freckles that a sly touch would trace over. How Ashe's clever, dexterous hands would fumble at a belt, trace defined musculature. The way the air would leave him as his back hit a bed. How he would gasp for more as wonderful, horrible things were done to his body. 

"Are you okay?" 

Dedue sucked in a sharp breath and whipped his head to find a very concerned Dimitri. 

"You're gonna break the glass," Felix said. 

"Your mouth is purple," Ingrid said, leaning against her fist. 

Dedue looked down at his glass and once again found it empty. He let go of his tightened grip. A second more and he’d have to own Claude money for the broken glassware. He wiped at his mouth, feeling dry and sticky. With every movement of his head, his brain sloshed around, and he knew he'd be able to tell how drunk he was once he was on his feet. 

"Is it Rhea?" Dimitri asked, his voice quiet but still heard over the crowd. 

Yes, that made sense. Of course he was nervous about the critic's impending visit. It was what he was supposed to be in turmoil over. Not beautiful line cooks who found pleasure in another man's arms. 

Dedue kept quiet and nodded. 

The sympathetic smile Dimitri gave him was wholly unearned. He rested a hand on Dedue's shoulder. 

"Don't worry," he said. "I have the utmost faith in you. You'll perform admirably." 

Dedue nodded again as Dimitri filled up his cup with the last of their shared bottle. Dedue immediately drank from it, trying desperately not to imagine the soft sounds of pleasure Ashe might make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to what I like to call the Thirsty Dedue Chapters :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	9. Mock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The term chef’s table had since been transformed into a joke. It was a fold out card table with a plastic folding chair and it was where Dedue was banished when he had more pressing matters than running his kitchen. Like, for example, developing the menu for an esteemed critic. 
> 
> The chef’s table was where chefs went for time out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't exist like a month ago. It wasn't in my outline. But I felt I needed a beat here, to set up some more stuff and add some more. . . well you'll see :)

The chef's table was a pretentious concept. A dining table that was situated in the way of a kitchen and her cooks for the rich and powerful to come in and _observe_. Dimitri had toyed with the concept for HKF and it got as far as putting one of their smaller tables temporarily into the kitchen. 

It had been a spectacular failure. 

Dedue was not a gracious host and when he did remember to speak to their guests, it was often filled with long pauses, waiting to answer their questions in 1 or 2 syllable answers. Ingrid was far too brusk. The whole affair put Caspar and Linhardt’s unconventional relationship with the kitchen on full display. The chef’s table left their guests cramped in a hot corner watching a circus of chaos. 

Dimitri immediately scrapped the idea. 

The term chef’s table had since been transformed into a joke. It was a fold out card table with a plastic folding chair and it was where Dedue was banished when he had more pressing matters than running his kitchen. Like, for example, developing the menu for an esteemed critic. 

The chef’s table was where chefs went for time out. 

His back was to the kitchen and he could only listen to said circus of chaos. He heard when Caspar burnt his hand, Ingrid calling from the pass, when Ashe fell behind on the meat station. Something clattered and spilled and Dedue looked over in reflex. 

“Eyes forward!” Ingrid barked, pointing a ladle at him. 

Dedue quickly snapped around. He sighed, trying to block out the sounds around him, trying not to pinpoint distinct orders and the scrape of utensils against cookware. He needed to know. But he needed to focus more. 

In front him was an array of research. Past columns in magazines of Rhea’s reviews. Articles from her blog. Tweets that had been buried so deep in her twitter account, only Cyril could find them. Dedue tried to get a small peek into the mind of a woman he had never really regarded before. 

She seemed to like lighter affairs. While they weren’t necessarily a steakhouse, their meat was a highlight of their menu. Dedue had already begun planning a small dish that would satisfy both needs. He bounced his pencil on his notepad, tapping in a slow rhythm in time with his thoughts. Trying to find a pace that wasn’t the atonal melody of the kitchen behind him. 

An appetizer first, something more of an amuse-bouche than filling. Dedue could pull out the pâté from winter or a small quiche. He struck out the quiche and decided to risk the pâté. He could serve house made crackers and a small single serving assortment of cheeses and olives. Dedue had gone back and forth on soup or salad then decided on a cold cucumber soup for the warm weather. Fish, of course, a branzino maybe. The small steak medallion would go on a specially prepared sauce. A reduction. Dedue already had the recipe written down. 

Rhea was notorious for favoring chamomile and Dedue contemplated sneaking the herbal flavor somewhere. Maybe Sylvain could fit it into his drinks, a non-alcoholic if she wanted to keep her wits about her. Or maybe into dessert. 

There was something special Dedue had wanted to highlight for dessert. 

He slowly glanced over his shoulder. 

Ashe was hunched over his stove. He was still behind, that much was clear, but quickly catching up. He wouldn’t need any aid, he could pull through. Grease hit the stove and flames danced up in front of him. He shifted his pan, forcing the cut of meat to further soak up its own juices, the herbs and flavors that danced in the wet. He moved onto the next pan, making sure it got equal amounts of attention. 

Ashe’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his brow down turned, concentration etched over his face. His shoulders tense and his jacket taut. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal the freckles on the backs of his arms. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple. 

It would be so easy to. . .

Mercedes’ face filled Dedue’s vision. 

“Eyes forward, Chef Molinaro,” she said in a twinkling airy voice, far more terrifying than Ingrid and her ladle. 

Dedue sighed heavily and crossed out the idea of a chamomile based dessert. He could slip it into an after dinner coffee. 

Ashe’s sugar glass would be a highlight. 

“There,” Dedue said. “Done.” 

He rose to his feet, using the near extra foot he had over Mercedes to hover over her. She smiled pleasantly, still far more intimidating when he was in time out. 

“May I have my pass back now?” he asked. 

“Mock up,” Ingrid commanded. 

Dedue slowly turned to look at his sous chef, silent exhaustion apparent on his face. She was brandishing the ladle again. 

“Mock up,” she said slowly. “Or I tell Dimitri you’re being belligerent.” 

Some days, Dedue wished Dimitri had never met the woman. 

It had happened on one of Dimitri’s visits to Garreg Mach. Dimitri had insisted on meeting Dedue’s classmates and the only one he had really known was the woman who had been antagonizing him since day one. Dedue couldn’t bring himself to let Dimitri know how she had treated him up until that point, but in the end it was a blessing. 

They had become fast friends, her and Felix and Sylvain, and before he knew it a small friend group had formed. Over time, her animosity had slowly turned to respect. Until finally she apologized for the way she had treated him. It was easy to accept it. Slowly respect transformed into loyalty and Dedue knew she’d follow him as his sous chef, even if it meant the impossible event of leaving HKF. 

While still uptight and strict, she was looser, more sociable than Dedue had ever been. Her friendship with Dimitri was on more even ground. 

When she threatened to tell Dimitri, she held power over Dedue.

The kitchen slowly quieted. Caspar looked up with big eyes, waiting to see if he’d get a free high end dinner. Cyril held still, wanting to see if he’d get to have Rhea’s special meal. Linhardt was on the only one still focused on his work, the outside world shut out. He ran a hand over his eyes and for a second looked like he might list forward and fall asleep in his velouté. Even Ashe glanced over his shoulder. Still working, but curious.

“Some of these meals require more expensive ingredients,” Dedue challenged. 

“Thats quite alright,” Mercedes said. 

“. . . some of these take hours,” he tried again. 

“We have time,” Ingrid said. 

“I would need a stove top,” Dedue said as a last ditch attempt. 

“I can share with Lin!” Caspar shouted, pushing his pans over to Linhardt’s station. Linhardt squawked and began sputtering complaints at Caspar. 

Dedue’s eyes slid back to his sous chef. Ingrid smirked. She had the gall to smirk at him. 

“Fine,” he said and walked to the fridge. 

He pushed up his sleeves and glanced at Ashe as he passed. He couldn’t help it. Ashe’s eyes flicked up to his head chef and he smiled. That small secret smile that seemed only for Dedue, even still. Dedue scowled, pushing away such thoughts, and realigned his focus. 

He had to take multiple trips to the fridge and pantry and luckily, unfortunately, they were stocked with everything he would need. He half thought of changing the meals last minute to introduce something new, but it would go against the rest of HKF’s presentation. The dance he would do to complete the meal was already playing out in his head. Where to start, which burner to use when, what was acceptable to take up room in the stove, all of it. He kept his ingredients close and took the first steps. 

The rest of service went around him in a blur. A far cry from his ostracization to the chef’s table, Dedue was able to lower his head and fall into the romanticism of cooking. The sounds of his brigade faded away, the calls from Ingrid was nothing more than white noise, his focus, his music, on the burbling and hissing in front of him. The scents of his own spices drowned out the rest of the kitchen, the heat from his pans brushing up against his face and dominating his attention.

It was only when he was in down periods that he became aware of eyes on him. Linhardt and Caspar would glance and sniff and overall let their curious natures silently inquisit what he was doing. Cyril passed behind him more and more. Ingrid’s attention was more babysitting than anything. 

“That smells good,” Annette said, leaning over the cooktop to see what he was doing. 

Dedue was leaning against the back wall, arms folded. 

“You should be on the floor,” he said. 

“Eh, service is almost over,” she said with a wave, her eyes not leaving the food. 

She was right. The time flew by when Dedue wasn’t paying attention. The kitchen had quieted. On reflex, his eyes slid to Ashe. 

The rush had died down, giving the line cook a reprieve, and he was taking a water break. Some of his hair had dropped out of his pin and was flopping into his eyes. He didn’t fix it, instead content to down as much water as possible. A little dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. 

Dedue could. . . 

He pushed off the wall and went back to work. Annette drummed her fingers and smiled. 

“I’ll call Dimitri,” she said. 

Dedue wanted to tell her not to, but she had already walked off. He sighed and focused on his reduction. 

Soon, or what felt like soon, the kitchen emptied out. All that was left was Dedue and his cooking. He looked up to see the dining room devoid of customers and just HKF’s staff waiting for his impromptu presentation. Dimitri had shown up, sitting cross legged and talking with the waitstaff with a cool businesslike smile.

Dedue regretted telling Ingrid that his menu was complete. He should have taken more time, refined it. He hadn’t been expecting to present it so soon. 

He finished up the meals and poured the chamomile latte, complete with a milk decoration in the shape of a leaf. He sighed, hands on his hips, looking at his presentation. The color palette was diverse yet cohesive, the flavors would blend well together, it was pleasing to the eye and the nose and Dedue knew the mouthfeel would be spot on as well. Everything that was needed had been checked off. 

He looked back up at the small crowd on the other side of the glass. He could just leave. How long would it take for the others to notice. Probably seconds, they were so anticipatory. Dedue eyed the door, then the group.

Looking at one person in particular. 

Ashe was seated at a booth next to Annette. Dedue couldn’t tell who he was talking to, but he was laughing at something someone said. He was leaning into his palm, engaged in the conversation. His pinky dropped, catching on his lip idly. Slowly, his eyes went back to the kitchen. Through the tinted glass he wouldn’t be able to see Dedue’s stare, but Dedue could see him. 

Could see the delicate curve of his wrist. The way his lip pulled. His foot bouncing with anticipation. His slacks, his hoodie, his neck, his hair. All of it, Dedue could see all of it. 

He could see so much more. . . 

Dedue crossed his arms and looked at his menu again. It was all the right things, but not up to his standards. By all intents and purposes, this was half assed for Dedue. He wasn’t ready to present it, but Ingrid had challenged him and he rose to it. 

He picked up the amuse-bouche and the soup and walked out to the dining room. Upon first entering the room, he was greeted with full attention and a small chorus of excitement. It took a few trips, but he finally had everything set up at a table where no one was seated. He finished off with the latte, turning it just so until it was presented in the correct way. Without a word, he took a step back and folded his hands behind his back. 

Sylvain moved first. 

“Ah ah,” Ingrid said with a strong arm across his chest. “Who says you get to eat it?” 

“I need to pair it don’t I?” he countered. 

“But _I_ can give critical feedback,” Ingrid said. 

“And _I_ need to know what its like so I can accurately describe it,” Annette said, walking between the two of them. 

Before any of them could go for a fork, Dedue turned to Dimitri. 

“Sir?” he asked. 

“Oh no,” Dimitri said, waving one hand. “You know my palette isn’t as refined. I do think it should go to one of them.” 

“Or you could all share,” Mercedes said. 

“With all of us?” Cyril piped up. 

Eager eyes fixed on Dedue for permission. He sighed and waved a hand towards the food. As if summoning from the ether, Annette produced forks and the group of them descended upon the meal for one like a flock of vultures. Dimitri pulled out a chair next to him and at the invitation, Dedue took the seat. He watched the slaughter with impassive eyes. 

“Good call on the small cut,” Cyril piped up from the beef medallion. 

“Oh damn,” Sylvain said, sniffing the latte. “I was gonna say you stole my schtick but this is good.” 

“Whats this one called?” Annette said pointing to the soup. 

“Soup,” Dedue said. 

She gave him a flat look. Ingrid took a too loud slurp of it and smacked her lips in contemplation. 

“Could use some mint,” she said. 

Dedue noted it and nodded in acknowledgment. 

“I could pair some of these with a frangelico based cocktail,” Sylvain said. He was far less loud than Ingrid as he ate. 

“You don’t think that would be _too_ herbal?” Ingrid questioned. 

“Woman, I know my cocktails,” Sylvain said. “Frangelico and that fish thingy?” 

He clicked his tongue and held up an a-okay symbol. Ingrid slapped him with a wet spoon. 

“I don’t see a dessert,” Annette said, looking up from the amuse-bouche. “Were we planning on having one?” 

“Ashe’s compote,” Dedue said blandly. 

“Oh yeah that’d go great with the coffee,” Annette agreed. She grinned, looking just over Dedue’s shoulder. “You’ve been volunteered.”

Weak, as per usual, Dedue looked over his shoulder. Ashe was leaning out of the booth, one hand on the table’s edge, to get a better view of the meal that had come out. He was frozen in that position, still looking at the food. While he stared and inspected, his eyes seemed distant. What had been a smile was slowly fading from his face, wan and pathetic. 

He looked. . . disappointed. 

His eyes flicked to Dedue, for just a second, before he laughed quietly under his breath and looked away. 

Dimitri finally took a fork and leaned forward. He stole the last bite of the branzino. He cocked his head and his mouth pulled into a ‘not bad’ frown. 

“Good,” he said. 

What was normally the punctuation on a test meal left Dedue hollow. He still stared at his line cook. He had approval from his boss, from his team, but not from one specific person. A person whose opinion suddenly seemed far more important. 

Dedue turned back around slowly, eyes fixed on the now empty plates, but not really registering them. 

After the onslaught and a few words of feedback and praise, HKF’s staff broke up in multiple directions to head home. They split in their respective ways, leaving the kitchen one by one. Dedue had wanted to linger, but Cyril and Mercedes urged him to leave. Assuring him they’d clean and lock up. 

“Rest,” Mercedes said, patting his shoulder. “You earned it.” 

Reluctantly, Dedue trudged out of his kitchen. He left to the rare sight of seeing his staff disperse. Linhardt drove off on his mo-ped, Caspar in the side car. Ashe’s car kicked as it pulled out of the parking lot. He was gripping his steering wheel, hunched over and eyes unblinking as he stared at the road. Dedue watched them all go before he began the long short walk home. 

He couldn’t appreciate his little house as he normally did. He didn’t spare his darkened garden a second glance. Too tired to cook anymore, he pulled something microwaveable from his freezer. It didn’t register what he was eating, just that he was getting nutrients. 

Dedue knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not right away, and he didn’t want to sit around letting his mind wander. He exercised, pushing himself, but still trying to keep it as quiet as possible, so as to not disturb his neighbors. He failed on some front, finding a mindless rhythm and his idle thoughts crept back in. 

Far past his bedtime, he lumbered into his shower and tried to keep his focus on what he was doing. He cleaned quickly, knowing that if he soaked in the heat, his mind would travel back to unwanted thoughts. 

Focus was what he needed. The here and now was what he required. Live in the present, not in the past, not in fantasy. 

He climbed into bed, pulled the comforter up to his chin, and silently pleaded for not another night of torture. He closed his eyes, focused on his breath, and attempted to slip peacefully into sleep. 

And as it always did, his mind drifted back to Ashe. 

A train arriving right on schedule, the new routine of his half conscious mind, ready to explore the new thoughts that had accumulated over the past couple of days. 

He imagined Ashe, sitting at the booth, laughing. The way his finger had sat perched on his lip, between his teeth. It could have easily been Dedue who ran his finger over Ashe’s lip, let Ashe gently clamp his thumb between his teeth. He would wrap his lips around the digit, inhale slowly as Dedue’s touch ran over his tongue, as he pulled and suckled. His foot bounced in anticipation for what Dedue might do next. Big green eyes fluttered open with so much promise. 

Dedue’s eyes snapped open again. He breathed heavily, frustrated with his own intrusive thoughts. 

Ever since that first night, Dedue had been plagued with those thoughts. He had come home drunk, still imagining Ashe in bed with Sylvain, with half a mind to call his line cook and tell him to stop. It was a good thing he didn’t have Ashe’s number, otherwise he might have embarrassed himself further. He woke up in his clothes from the night before, with a headache, and no small amount of shame. Even if nothing happened and no one witnessed his intoxication. 

He still knew. 

But he couldn’t blame the inebriation on his completely sober, wandering mind. How his eyes slid over Ashe, how he took in details he hadn’t noticed before. How each smile and quick movement and laugh would not only pull on his heart strings, but conjure up other, deeper feelings. 

Dedue had spent the last weeks shunning the idea of ever kissing Ashe again, of holding him in his arms, of spending late nights cooking together and listening to him talk. Those had been child’s play compared to the hell his mind now put him under. 

Dedue shifted, situating himself deeper under the covers, and folded his hands over his chest. Attempt two. 

A deep breath in. Deep breath out. The air in his vents whirring to life under the incoming heat. The last wisps of misting steam from his shower. The weight of his comforter, the ache in his muscles, the bit of water that slid from the corner of Ashe’s mouth. The way he gasped as the bottle pulled away, a greedy gulp of air. Spittle would cling to the corner of his lips, in desperate need of more hydration. A slow smile, sticky sweet in any other situation but that one, just for Dedue and only Dedue. His mouth wide as he leaned in to occupy it once more. 

Dedue pounded his fist on the bed. Then again in frustration. He growled. 

He hated this. He hated the way his mind betrayed him. Hated the unwanted, unasked for thoughts. But most of all, he hated objectifying Ashe like that. 

He was so much more than all that. He was talent and kindness and a gentle soul. He was inquisitive and caring and empathetic. He was soft in all the right ways, hard in all the others, who filled out his jeans nicely, with talented fingers that could wrap around–

Dedue pounded the bed three more times. 

He was disappointed in himself. In his own restraint. Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair and stared up at his ceiling. 

Ashe had been disappointed. He had seen what Dedue had to offer, a high end meal with care and consideration for its critic, and found it lacking. 

Dedue frowned up at the darkness. 

Did he see the half effort Dedue had put into the meal? Ashe would notice, with clever observant eyes like that. Or was it that he didn’t want to do the dessert? He didn’t want to be apart of the meal? That wasn’t like Ashe, he usually jumped to the chance to impress someone. 

Was it the food itself? 

Dedue’s brows pressed together. That left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ashe had always liked his cooking. What was he missing? 

This line of thinking was worse than the other. 

Dedue sighed in resignation and turned on his side, once again pulling the comforter tight around his shoulders. He closed his eyes one last time and allowed his brain to do what it will. 

Ashe. Concentrating and tense as he worked through a rush. The way he had been standing, so anticipatory of something. The fabric across his back pulled taut, lines between his shoulder blades. 

In Dedue’s mind, he wasn’t hovered over a stove. He was waiting, anxious for a touch. Dedue wanted to pull up Ashe’s shirt, to look upon that hunched back, to see if there were freckles up his spine as there had been on the back of his arm, across his reddened face. He would relax under Dedue’s hand, allow himself to be coaxed forward, bending over the surface in front of him. The held breath between his lips puffing out in relief, the bead of sweat dripping from his brow, his bangs obscuring his eyes. 

Dedue slowly drifted into sleep, dreaming of a soft moan and a sweet smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirsty Dedue Chapters y'all
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	10. One Cockroach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One cockroach. That was all it took. Just one. 
> 
> Less than a week away from Rhea’s visit and Cyril had found a single. Dead. Cockroach. Had it been anyone else, it might have been swept away. But since it was Cyril, the whole restaurant went on lock down. 
> 
> They closed for a half day to give HKF a deep clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm knee deep in writing kinktober right now and I just had to pause and pump this chapter out. My brain wouldn't let me move on until I wrote this. Altho. . . we're getting into some other smutty fun. >:}
> 
> I swear one day I'll write something for this fandom that isn't shameless smut. I promise. Until then: 
> 
> bon appetit

One cockroach. That was all it took. Just one. 

Less than a week away from Rhea’s visit and Cyril had found a single. Dead. Cockroach. Had it been anyone else, it might have been swept away. But since it was Cyril, the whole restaurant went on lock down. 

They closed for a half day to give HKF a deep clean. 

Utensils were lined up in an assembly to get sterilized. Ovens and dishwashers and shelving were pulled out to clean behind them. Food was slowly being removed from the freezers and pantries to give them a deep scrub. Dimitri had pulled some strings to get the exterminator in by the next day. 

The already spotless kitchen would have to shine. 

It was louder than Dedue had ever heard it. Even with calling out from the pass, the shouting back, the commands and clanks of a rush, that was subdued compared to the Great Deep Clean. During service, all his cooks were professional, efficient. They moved when they needed, responded with what they needed, and kept any wild and idle movements to a minimum. With his kitchen filled with the entirety of HKF’s panicky staff, the noise was downright deafening. 

Dedue pulled out the double oven used for slow cooking meat and the screeching grind of the feet against the tile made more than one of the staff wince. 

“Yeah thats it Chef!” Caspar said, slapping his own bicep. 

Dedue disregarded it and heaved the oven a few more inches with a grunt. Once it was away from the wall, Cyril scurried in to unplug it and get to scrubbing. Dedue idly watched him, if anything to catch his breath. 

The sensation of feeling eyes on the back of one’s neck was a universal one. The skin itched, something akin to a shiver on a certain focused spot. Sometimes hairs would rise to attention. Other times it would be a full on jolt. Either way, Dedue felt the attention on him. He’d felt it before, being so much larger and somewhat of a public figure, and he had learned to ignore it. 

This one he couldn’t ignore. 

He looked over his shoulder, just a glance. Just in time to see Ashe’s head whip back to facing forward. 

That had been happening more and more often. Dedue would catch Ashe staring or trying not to look like he was. In the middle of prep or service, Ashe would be holding still and looking at Dedue, before his eyes would fall back to his task. Or his head would whip away as he left. Always contemplative. 

That particular evening, Ashe seemed to be staring more. 

Dedue didn’t know how to process that. He wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or like a bug under a microscope. What he did feel was greedy. He liked Ashe’s attention, wanted more of it. 

Ashe reached up over the counter to scrub at the top side of the shelving. His body extended, he went on tip toe, and he reached his arm as long as it would go. The corner of his shirt pulled up, revealing a sliver of skin. Just enough that Dedue could see the freckles on his back. 

That was more than enough. 

Dedue’s mind disobeyed him. No matter how hard he tried to keep the rampant thoughts at bay, they always won in the end. They came so fluidly, simply slipping into his mind. With every second of repression, Dedue’s resolve crumbled. 

And they were no longer relegated to late night torment. 

They came during the day.

That flash of skin told Dedue so much. How pale Ashe was, how the back of his body would look completely bare. It looked soft and smooth. So tantalizing to run his hand over. The shape of his hip dipped into his lower back, places where Dedue wished he could see. Thoughts of how the skin would fold if Ashe were bent just right. 

“Chef?” 

Dedue looked back around to see Cyril had crawled out from under the oven. He had something smudged on his face. 

“Yes?” Dedue asked. 

“All set?” Cyril indicated behind the oven. 

Dedue still held the oven in his arms. 

“Oh,” he said, placing it down. “I’ll move on to the next one.” 

The next oven was already scraping along the floor. Dimitri was taking small, heavy steps backwards, his arms around the equipment, grunting as he did. Fashionable sleeves that cost more than necessary were rolled up to reveal flexed muscle. Dedue often forgot just how strong his boss was. 

“I got that sir,” he said, a feeble attempt to stop Dimitri from exerting himself more than he needed. 

Dimitri put the oven down and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. A slick of old grease left a small crown upon his brow. He smiled at Dedue, hands on his hips. 

“Consider it already got,” he said. “I’m not just going to let my staff do all the dirty work. This is my restaurant, you know.” 

“How could we forget?” Sylvain said. He was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the underside of the counter.

Ingrid flicked water from the sink. 

“Focus!” she said. 

Sylvain flinched from the droplets. He gave Ingrid an indignant look and appeared to be two seconds from hissing like a cat, but went back into the dark of the counter. 

Cyril scurried behind the second oven, already diving into the darker corners with a special made ‘mold scrubber’ he had devised that morning. Dimitri went to the single rack dishwasher, squared his stance, and wrapped his arms around it. 

“I’m sure you have. . .” He grunted and pulled the machine out from the wall, once again moving in those plodding heavy steps. He dropped it with a thunk. “More important things to do.” 

Dedue tried not to. He really did. 

His eyes once again slid to the other side of the room. To the more important _thing_.

Ashe had put on a bandana, special for cleaning. It pulled his bangs out of his eyes, the hair off the back of his neck, revealed more so than when he was in service. Dedue could see the bumps in his spine as he lowered his head, the soft curve of his shoulders, the length of his neck. Dedue wanted to run his fingers over those perfect details, to gently place kisses along them. To see how small Ashe would look in his arms again. 

Dedue swallowed and turned his attention back to Dimitri. 

“I suppose I can go through the inventory in the freezer,” he said. 

He took his time walking past the staff furiously scrubbing down the kitchen. As he walked past Ashe’s point, he managed to keep his eyes forward, but felt that sting of an inquisitive stare. Boring holes into the back of his head. 

The heft of the freezer door and the rush of cold air was a welcome to Dedue’s overheated skin. He typically didn’t care for spending too much time in the freezer, having never truly become accustomed to the cold. That evening it was a splendid place to hide. 

Annette was already in there, bundled up in a winter coat. She looked up at Dedue in pathetic despair, holding a tilapia in each hand. 

“I don’t know if these are good or not,” she whimpered. 

Dedue sighed and took the fish from her. 

“I’ll take over,” he said. “Go back to your staff. I think they’re washing the table coverings the wrong way.” 

Annette sighed in gratitude and walked past him. 

“Thank you,” she said, already unzipping the jacket. 

Annette caught the door before it could fully shut and Dedue didn’t hear the telltale _ka-thunk_ of it closing again. Instead, just the sigh of his friend. 

“Dedue,” she said quietly. “Are you doing okay?” 

Dedue shifted through the fish, organizing so he may seal them up and store them in a temporary refrigeration unit overnight. He focused on that and only that, not even considering how not okay he was. 

“Dedue?” she asked, making it clear that she wasn’t leaving without an answer. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Rhea’s service will be no issue.” 

“Thats not what I. . .” Annette sighed again. 

He spared her a glance as she scanned the freezer door, looking for the right words. Dedue already knew them. He wasn’t about to admit to them. 

“Just know that if you need someone to talk to,” she said. “I’m here.” 

Dedue’s hands stopped. He stared at the round glossy eye of the fish staring back up at him. 

He didn’t know what to say to that. These weren’t things he could share. That he was having wildly inappropriate thoughts about her friend, thoughts he could no longer control. That the one thing he wanted would require crushing Ashe’s dreams. How could he share things like that? 

He looked over his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m fine.” 

Annette gave him a wan smile before disappearing back out into the kitchen. The warm lights and busied sounds immediately cut off. Dedue could see his breath mist in the air. He was finally alone again. 

Alone with his thoughts. 

The idle intrusive daydream here and there had been an embarrassment. The fantasies late at night were downright shameful. But it seemed that now Dedue could not longer even _look_ at Ashe without thinking of all the ways he’d want to be with him. 

It wasn’t just the sexual thoughts. They should have been the worst out of all of them, the most shameful, but they weren’t. 

It was the way Ashe laughed. It was his hands while he cooked. It was his fierce determination and his quick wit. He’d make a quick biting comment back at something Caspar said. The way his fingers worked as he sprinkled that sugar glass dust. 

The occasional pause as he stood at Dedue’s pass, handing off a finished plate. 

The flood gates had opened and Dedue was filled with knowledge. How quickly Ashe could swallow a bottle of water. How his legs were where he got most of his height. How his nose crinkled when he smiled and his freckles scrunched together. 

How far backwards he could bend. 

Blame Sylvain for that one and the back cracking conversation that took place a week ago. 

Dedue’s hand pushed into the soft flesh of the fish and his thumb dented the skin. He dropped it back into the crate, letting it fall haphazardly among its brethren. He leaned his hands against the freezing cold of the stainless steel shelving and his sigh condensed in the air. 

The whole affair was ridiculous. He wanted to put all those thoughts out of his head, just go back to the way things were. When he simply came to work, made his food, and enjoyed the comfort of his own home. Not daydreaming of freckled skin and a smile made of sun beams. 

Dedue just wanted to cook for Ashe again. 

He closed his eyes and hung his head. He was stalling. He was hiding in that freezer. Outside of service, Dedue was next to useless when it came to commanding his kitchen. That wasn’t his role. But he couldn’t stall. 

Dedue put a lid on the bin of good fish and lifted it. Despite its weight, he could still hold it under one arm long enough to open the door. He carried it to the freezer in the parking lot, glancing as he did. Kicking himself for doing so. Ashe wasn’t where he had been, having moved on to another task. Dedue breathed a sigh of relief, despite himself. 

His mind swirled and he tried to focus on the here and now, mentally, objectively describing what he saw around his kitchen without judgement. His pass, new and sparkling clean. Syvlain’s legs, poking out under the counter, one crossed over there other. The knives all laid out to dry. 

He wasn’t looking and something hard hit his chest. 

“Ah!” Ashe yelped as his cargo broke free from its netting and a mountain of potatoes fell to the ground. They all hit the floor in concussive succession.

Ashe was quick to drop to his knees and began scooping them up before they could roll away. Mid grab, something made him stop. Maybe it was the realization of just _who_ he had bumped into. He paused, his hand half hovering over a potato that wobbled as it settled to the ground. Slowly, his eyes rose to look Dedue in the face. 

It was the worst possible situation. 

Ashe, on his knees, bowed before Dedue, his head tilted low and his eyes wide as they looked up from that vantage point. 

And lined up _perfectly_.

Dedue stared in abject horror as his mind instantly went into overdrive. Screw the objective and the non judgemental. It presented him with all the possibilities and situations that were exclusive to the grey spots before sleep. 

The blood rushed from Dedue’s head to elsewhere. 

Ashe’s eyes softened and his mouth went slack. Slowly, they traveled down the expanse of Dedue’s body, moving in small heavy lidded jerks, taking in details. Until they almost settled on the one place that fully wanted his attention. Before Ashe could take it in he breathed in sharply, closed his eyes, and shook the cobwebs out of his head. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, going back to the potatoes. “Sorry chef.” 

“It is my fault,” Dedue said going to his knees. “I wasn’t paying attention. Let me help.” 

“No its alright I got it,” Ashe said, not daring to look up. 

They quickly scooped up as many potatoes as they could. Dedue went for one that was directly between them, not noticing that Ashe had the same idea in mind. 

Their fingers brushed before either of them could grab it. 

Ashe pulled his hand back as if he had touched an open flame, inhaling sharply as he did. He held his hand to his chest, his chin tucked in, very deliberately not looking at Dedue. Carefully, Dedue picked up the lone potato and held it out. 

“Here,” he said, trying desperately hard not to sound as choked up as he felt. 

“Thank you,” Ashe said quietly, taking the tuber. 

He gathered up the wayward potatoes into the broken sack and held it precariously by the ends. He planted one foot in front of him, ready to rise to standing, but stopped. Once again, those eyes pierced through Dedue. That same calculating look, as if he were trying to understand a problem. 

Dedue was reminded of the seconds before Ashe leaned in to kiss him. And then remembered Ashe calling it a stupid, _stupid_ mistake. 

Ashe stood up and headed outside. Dedue remained on the floor for a painful moment before going back into the freezer. 

The evening went by quickly. One by one, the staff broke off as the checklist ran out of things to do. The freezer was cleared out, the pantry was cleared out, every surface had been scrubbed clean, every cloth had been taken to be dry cleaned, right down to the chef’s jackets. The kitchen almost looked the way it did when Dedue first saw it: empty and full of potential. 

Dimitri yawned and leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the restaurant. He closed his eyes and looked about two seconds from falling asleep. 

Dedue walked by, mopping the floor up as he did. 

“When was the last time you slept, sir?” he asked. 

Dimitri lazily opened one eye and smiled at Dedue, that same one he always did with the upturned brow and filled with pity. 

“. . . is it a problem if I can’t remember?” he asked. 

“Go home, sir,” Dedue said, not looking up from the floor. 

“I just want to make sure–” 

“Go. Home.” Dedue said. “Sir.” 

“Alright alright,” Dimitri laughed, waving off Dedue like he was some kind of riled up animal. “Are you okay to lock up?” 

Dedue looked over the _mostly_ empty kitchen. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“Alright then.” Dimitri sighed. “It _is_ well past my bedtime. Mercedes?” 

“Coming!” the airy voice called from her closet of an office. She sidled through the door, carrying a brown accordion folder filled to the brim with papers. “This should be the last of it.” 

“You didn’t have to clean out your entire office,” Dimitri laughed. 

“There are sensitive documents in there. I didn’t want to leave them out,” Mercedes said. She went to lock the door but stopped herself last minute. “Cyril?” 

There was no sound from the space underneath the dishwasher. 

“Cyril,” Mercedes said like a stern mother. 

Soft grunts and minor swears as the porter scrubbed. 

“Cyril!” Dimitri barked. 

The dishwasher clanged as Cyril jolted and hit his head. He swore again, but crawled out from under the utility, brandishing his specialized mold scrubber like a weapon. 

“I’m not done yet,” he said petulantly. 

“You’re done,” Mercedes, Dimitri, and Dedue all said at the same time. 

Cyril frowned indignantly at the unfair team up against him. Mercedes sighed and gently held the accordion folder in front of her, as kindly as a mother. 

“If we let you keep going, you’ll be here all night,” she said. 

“And?” he asked. 

She simply smiled at him. That was enough of a threat. With a huff, Cyril practically threw down his tool and took off his smock. He didn’t need to wear it, but when in the kitchen Cyril insisted on dressing like a professional. He handed the smock over to Mercedes’ outstretched hand and walked past Dimitri into the dining room, nose held high. 

“Have a good night,” Mercedes said to the kitchen. 

“Good night Mercedes, Sir,” Dedue said to her and Dimitri as they stepped out. 

“Night!” Ashe said from the back of the kitchen. 

Dimitri waved goodbye and the door clicked shut. Dedue watched the three shadows walk out the front door, watched it close, and then he was alone. 

_They_ were alone. 

It had been almost two months since Dedue last shared the kitchen with just Ashe. Almost two months since Ashe let the pot fall to the flames and the garlic burn. Almost two months since Dedue went home confused and never came up for air. Dedue stared at the floor he’d been cleaning, working on the same spot for the last minute, and he could make out his frown in the reflection. 

He glanced to the man on the other side of the kitchen, gently shoving a mop back and forth over the exposed floor. His bandana hung loose around his neck and his hair clung to his temples. Ashe’s movements slowed before coming to a stop altogether. Dedue quickly looked away before Ashe could catch him staring and pretended to be hyper focused on his work. 

He could feel those eyes on him. 

“I would think you had something to do tonight,” Dedue said before Ashe could. 

“I. . . oh!” Ashe said and it sounded like a laugh. The bubbling sound shot through Dedue like a lance. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. “No. No, I have nothing to do. Just this.” 

Dedue grunted and spared Ashe another look. He was holding his mop, leaning on it like a crutch, and stared expectantly at Dedue, the way he did when lingering at the pass. 

“I thought I heard Sylvain trying to convince Ingrid out for drinks,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Ashe laughed again, red slowly creeping up his face. “I don’t think he managed to do that. But I think I’m set on going out for a while. He drinks like a fish, it was a mistake.” 

Ashe laughed again and it almost sounded natural. Dedue tried not to dwell on Ashe’s _mistake_. He resumed mopping the same spot and this time remembered to push forward. The _click click_ of his mop was the only sound echoing off the empty kitchen walls. Dedue’s eyes darted back to Ashe, just for a second, just for a moment, and saw the line cook still _staring_. He pushed forward again. 

“You know,” Ashe said. His voice shook. Dedue hadn’t heard Ashe without confidence since that first day. “A critic like Rhea. She doesn’t come to a restaurant to review the restaurant.” 

Dedue said nothing and only moved forward another inch. 

“She comes to review its chef.” 

Dedue pushed forward a little hard, his mop squealing against the ground. It needed water. 

The silence between them was deafening. Ashe was clearly waiting on something. A response, an answer. Something, _anything_ from Dedue. 

“It would be best for a chef to put their best foot forward when a critic like her comes around, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked when Dedue gave him nothing. 

“And that’s what we’re doing,” Dedue said. 

“Is it?” 

Dedue stopped, frozen with his hands out and the mop pressed into the ground. He couldn’t focus, his surroundings were nothing more than mush. The cleaned kitchen dropped out and disappeared into a world of stainless steel grey. All that mattered was the quiet company he kept in that moment. He finally looked up and gave Ashe his full attention. Ashe swallowed, his polite smile restrained on his face. There was something akin to excitement in his eyes, like when he saw that first pepper. 

“I. . . I’ve seen. . . I’ve tasted your best,” he said. “And the menu you’re going to give to her is not that.” 

There was no kitchen anymore. No quiet outside world or single dead cockroach. No critic on her way to praise or damn their restaurant. 

Just the man who made flowers from nothing. 

Dedue didn't blink. His hands tightened around the mop. He half wished he'd never let Ashe stay that first night, never agreed to let Ashe into his private rituals, never fed that unending excitement, and never became addicted to it. 

Dedue wished he could cook for Ashe again. 

"I-I just think." Ashe swallowed and tried again. "Maybe. Maybe alter the menu. A little. To include. . . to include your best." 

Ashe beamed. The way he used to. Proud and excited and waiting in expectation. 

Dedue _really_ missed that. He missed all of it. And was sorely tempted to have it back. Almost tempted to take it back. Almost.

Dedue just wanted. . . 

"It's best for HKF." 

Ashe's smile didn't break. It wilted. So slowly that it could've been missed. Fading from sunshine brilliance to a dull half smile, until finally it was gone completely. His eyes dropped with his smile, going to the ground. Staring at nothing. Away from Dedue. He said nothing. Only nodded and went back to work. 

Not much longer, only a few short minutes, Ashe had made his way to the furthest point away from Dedue. He dropped his mop into the squeeze bucket and wheeled it to it's rightful corner. 

"I think I'm done," he said quietly. 

Dedue wondered if he meant just with the cleaning. 

He shrugged into his jacket and went to leave. He was halfway out the back door when he stopped. When he turned, the smile he wore was polite. 

But false. 

"Have a good night chef," he said. 

"You as well," Dedue said. 

For a second, the corner of Ashe's mouth twitched, almost becoming genuine. But instead he left and the door closed behind him. Leaving Dedue alone in his sanctuary. 

Leaving Dedue alone with his thoughts. 

His hands tightened around the mop still, almost breaking it. With no sounds or distractions, all he could do was replay that conversation, past conversations, fantasies. That kiss that he had taken for granted. Ashe’s laugh that he had taken for granted. The way Ashe’s smile had disappeared completely. 

How that had been his fault. 

Nothing was getting clean that night. 

Dedue packed up his mop, shut off all the lights, and locked the door behind him. He meandered home, unable to walk in a straight line. His thoughts swirled becoming a mush of overlapping ideas. All focus was gone, not a singular thing could pop up and dominate in his mind. 

The incoming critic, the single cockroach on an already pristine floor, Ashe on his knees before Dedue, heavy lidded and looking in places he shouldn’t, Ashe asking Dedue to put Duscur into his menu. 

Nerves, guilt, shame, anticipation. All of it transforming, folding in on one another, screaming loud in his ears. 

He replayed his menu over in his mind, the moves, the steps in the kitchen. Slowly the ingredients became less focused and slipped into those special orders, the ones from his garden. The recipes changed to the ones that made Ashe throw his head back in delight and moan. The moan changed from one of joy to one of pleasure, the one that only Dedue’s imagination knew. The way he looked at Dedue, the eyes boring in his mind. The intensity of his stare. 

A confidence grew in Dedue, one that he didn’t want to indulge. That Ashe’s feelings had not changed, that he still wanted Dedue. Even if that was the truth, even if Ashe held the same thoughts Dedue did, they couldn’t. Not with Ashe’s pleas to keep his job, how important it was. Not with Dedue being Ashe’s boss, having Ashe do as he told. The things Dedue wanted to tell Ashe to do. 

How if he asked nicely, Ashe would crawl on all fours, over the spilled potatoes, to do exactly as his eyes promised. 

Dedue stood in front of his door, fumbling for his keys. He missed the lock, scratching into the brass. Two more tries and he managed to slip it in. He stood in his darkened home, the utilities of his kitchen looming like monsters in the dark. The thought of food churned his stomach, the thought of preparing a dinner from home only brought back that slowly crumbling smile. 

Dedue needed a shower. 

He didn’t even attempt for hot. The stream ran cold and Dedue watched the water as he disrobed. He ignored the way his body had responded, hoping that the shower would dissuade it, as it always did. He stepped in and began the fight he had every night. 

Weeks of this. Weeks of fighting off the thoughts and the way he _wanted_. Not once did he touch himself. Not once did he give in. He told himself not to give in, playing it like a mantra over and over in his mind. Don’t give in. Don’t let it win. _Don’t touch._

What if Ashe’s gaze had actually achieved his goal? What if Ashe opened his mouth to taste the front of Dedue’s jeans? 

What if Ashe _wanted_? 

What if Dedue had kissed back? 

Dedue gave in. 

His hand wrapped around his cock and began to quickly pump, hoping for a swift end, hoping to get this over with. The swirl in his mind fed him ideas that all had a singular purpose, a common theme. 

In Dedue’s mind, Ashe crawled forward. In Dedue’s mind, his eyes fluttered up to Dedue, attempting to maintain eye contact from his position on the floor. In Dedue’s mind, he took into his mouth what Dedue fed him. 

He would smile and laugh as Dedue’s hands ran over his body. He would quietly moan as Dedue kissed every freckle, tracing over them like constellations. Ashe’s hands in his hair, Ashe’s legs around his waist, Ashe’s lips against his own. 

Dedue wished he knew what Ashe truly sounded like. Panting and begging and saying Dedue’s name over and over again. He wished he knew Ashe’s touch, if he would dig his fingers down Dedue’s back, if he would palm over Dedue’s ass, how his hands would feel wrapped around Dedue’s cock. Dedue wanted to know what Ashe’s mouth would feel like. Places where his tongue would explore, his teeth raking against Dedue’s skin. 

At least Dedue knew what he kissed like. 

Dedue gasped, the sound of it echoing off the tile. Cold droplets of water danced off his lips. His hand moved slick up and down his shaft, precum staining his fingers. A delightful, painful, _wrong_ pleasured pressure built, pulling on the muscles in his abdomen, threatening to spill. 

He just needed to spill. 

He leaned his arm against the wall, hunching over his dick. His fist hit the tile, splishing against the water.

His thoughts were uncontrollable. There was no reigning them in. They went where they wanted to, provided Dedue with what his dick needed. With his focus on getting off, he couldn’t stop the roller coaster that was his mind. 

Fantasies came distressingly close to reality. 

Just Ashe on his knees, just the memory of him looking up at Dedue. His smile from when times were better. How he would taste food during service. The way his chef’s jacket fit across his shoulders. The way his hair fell out of the pins, how it pulled at the nape of the back of his neck. How he said ‘yes chef’ when he was focused, when he had been happy with Dedue. How he had felt in Dedue’s arms, Dedue holding on to his wrists. How his lips had felt against Dedue’s, gentle and chaste. 

The way his smile fell.

Dedue just wanted to hold Ashe in his arms. He wanted to be able to kiss Ashe again. He wanted to talk with him, to talk about food and Ashe’s inspiration and his desserts. He wanted to tell Ashe all about flowers, about home. 

He wanted to cook for Ashe again. 

He wanted to be the man Ashe wanted him to be. 

With a short cry, Dedue came. His dick jerked in his hand, cum spilling out over his fingers and into the stream of water. It pooled at his feet, swirling down into the drain. Despite the cold, heat ran over Dedue’s body, an exertion of trying so hard and the shame of what he had done. 

He kept his eyes squeezed shut and tried once again to focus. A whine seeped through Dedue’s teeth. He leaned forward, pressing his head against his arm. Water streamed around him in a curtain, trailing down his back in icicle stabs that did nothing. 

He looked at his hand, shaking and messy. 

Dedue’s head hung low and he knew there was nothing he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL IT IS RATED E ISN'T IT!? Folks, we got our first instance of the word COCK! This bitch finally earning that rating! 
> 
> I'm so ready to move on from sad sack Dedue and Ashe. JUST LET THEM BE HAPPY DANGIT 
> 
> Now. . . I must say. . . I am quite excited for the next chapter :>
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	11. Coward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette peeked her head in through the door. 
> 
> “She’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JGNFJFJVKGJDJSHFJVJDJD
> 
> Y'ALL HAVE
> 
> NO
> 
> IDEA
> 
> This bitch of a mother fucking chapter has been living in my head rent free for MONTHS now and just FUCKIN CAME OUT 
> 
> I was just like la do dah gonna write a little yes chef and BAM the whole thing was done in 2 hours
> 
> FUCK
> 
> Anyways, here it is. This chapter. Bon appetit

A hush fell over HKF’s kitchen. A thick tension permeated the air. An uncomfortable calm Dedue could practically taste. 

He disregarded it and went through service. As if it were any service. Normal as usual. 

Even if it wasn't.

Annette peeked her head in through the door. 

“She’s here.” 

“Fuck,” Dimitri said from the chef’s table. 

He had been banished there, not allowed to show any favor to the critic. Buttering her up or giving her special wine that might come off as a bribe. He shouldn’t have been on the premises, but Mercedes allowed him that. He sat with his legs crossed, his hands folded over his knee, and stared at the ghostly silhouettes on the other side of the glass. 

They all stared. 

The critic Rhea practically floated as she was lead to a table directly in the center of the house. She was a figure of grace, tall and elegant, her hair piled up high with unmistakable ornamentation. She nodded to the hostess who sat her and slid into her seat as if she was meant to be there. Her mere presence commanded the entire restaurant, even to those who did not recognize her. 

Her head turned and Dedue could once again feel eyes on him. 

“Oh my god,” Cyril whispered. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god, its her.” 

“You’re staring,” Linhardt said, not looking up from his fish. 

“I am looking respectfully.”

“Cyril, trash please,” Ashe said, nudging the full bin at his feet. 

“Right!” The porter jumped to action, wanting to show the restaurant’s best just like everyone else. 

Dedue breathed in deep and wiped his hands down with a towel. 

“Ingrid,” he said calmly. 

“Yes chef.” Ingrid dropped her knife and immediately took his place at the pass. 

Dedue moved through the gauntlet of stares to the fridge. He pulled out the foods he'd prepared ahead of time, ready for his special menu. A cool stillness ran through him. His mind was clearer than it had been for weeks. A focus filled him to the brim. 

He would cook. 

Linhardt and Ashe moved out of the way, finding cramped quarters on a shared stove. Caspar took up Ingrid’s place on meat. Like a well orchestrated ballet, Dedue’s kitchen moved without needing to be told. 

He placed his materials down, his pots and pans at the ready. The click of fire as it ignited, the sizzle of oil hitting a pan, the rush through his veins. All of it so familiar. 

He slid into his role, wearing it like armor. 

Dedue started with the reduction, bringing it to a simmer, and moved on to the pâté. 

The kitchen was a somber form of quiet, unlike anything Dedue had heard before. Ingrid barked orders from the pass, but they were efficient, not commanding. The responses and communication were better suited to a library. In any other situation, Dedue would have been sorely disappointed in his kitchen. 

He was far too focused on his mise en place. 

“Order,” he said, handing the appetizer off. 

Annette moved quickly to serve the critic. Dedue spared a glance to see Rhea holding a cocktail glass delicately. Sylvain, back lit from the light under his bar, betrayed his own nerves, shooting glances with every sip. 

Dedue kept his focus. 

He picked up the emulsifier, crushing cucumbers to a brilliant green. He added the cream, the spices, everything needed for a high end cold soup. His heart was steady, his mind clean. Like a duck on water, all the work happened just below the surface, invisible to anyone who may look. 

He finished it off with a nut garnish. 

“Order.”

The soup waited at the pass for less than a minute, bypassing other orders that had been there longer. 

Dedue had a small break in the action and looked up in time to see Ashe coming back from the pass. Clear green eyes watched Dedue's cutting board where he was breaking down the fish. They flitted up to Dedue. His expression was blank, but Dedue could hear the words repeating in his head. 

_i’ve tasted your best_

Dedue focused. 

Out went the branzino. Out went the steak. One by one, Dedue knocked them down. Annette took them out without comment, not giving any feedback or play by play. No matter how much Dimitri whined from his corner. Every so often, the restaurant owner would click his tongue and turn his head, playing with his phone, but not really looking at it. 

After the steak went out, Dedue once again rubbed his hands clean with the rag. 

“Ubert,” was all he said. 

Ashe tossed his spatula to the pan with a little more force than necessary. He did not meet Dedue’s eyes as he took his place in that special spot. Dedue ducked over to the espresso machine, leaving his line cook to work on desert. 

He held on to the steamer and with a moment of quiet, his eyes wandered. 

To where they naturally would always go. 

Ashe was working over his sugar glass, smashing it in its tray to workable pieces. Each crunch was louder than Dedue was used to. He blamed the quiet of the kitchen. The way Ashe held the little mallet was tight enough that his knuckles turned white. When he turned his head to put the caramelized sugar in a blender, Dedue could make out a concentrated frown. 

_what you’re giving her is not that_

Dedue put chamomile into the coffee. 

The coffee and compote went out at the same time. A magical combination that worked well together. Annette took them with the same professional efficiency as she had all evening. 

And Dedue took his pass back. 

The main rush had passed by, but there were still orders. He called one out and got no response, all eyes moving just past him. He followed them to see the graceful figure of Rhea rise once again. She nodded to Annette, had the coat check put her jacket on for her, and without any fanfare, left. 

Dedue huffed. 

“One salad, two burrata, HEARD?” he called out. 

“Yes chef!” the kitchen called back, returning to their normal level. 

Ashe’s eyes lingered. Dedue pretended not to notice. 

Annette walked back into the kitchen hands folded in front of her and paused just inside the door way. She smiled, something genuine, for the first time that night. She rocked forward on her toes and slapped her hands awkwardly at her sides. 

“Well. . .?” Dimitri asked, leaning forward in his chair. 

“Well. . .” she said, looking off to the side and smiling secretively. 

Dimitri practically shook waiting on an answer. His hands clawed at the air.

“What did she say?” he asked, a little too quickly. 

Annette folded her hands behind her back and rocked up on her toes again. She held her smile, maintaining the mischievous and unblinking stare at Dimitri. Torturing the man. 

“Nothing,” she said. 

Dimitri huffed out a breath, his hands flopping to his sides. 

“She said the review would be up this week,” Annette continued. “But!” 

Dimitri perked up, hopeful. 

“She also said a lot of _mmmm_.” Annette pantomimed rubbing her stomach. “And _mm mm mmm_.” 

Dimitri laughed weakly. Annette’s eyes went to Dedue. 

“Plus, I know its good,” she said. 

Dedue just looked over his shoulder. 

“Caspar where is my salad!” he called out. 

“Coming Chef!” He scrambled to the pass, almost tripping on a left behind mop. He hopped to regain his balance and stopped to stare at the offending object. “Where’s Cyril?” 

“Getting an autograph,” Annette said. 

“Oh no he’s not!” Dimitri almost threw the table going for the door. Annette grabbed her boss and tried to bodily hold him back. She only managed to slow Dimitri down, Dimitri dragging her behind. 

The rest of service went off without a hitch. Naturally. Dedue expected no less. As the restaurant wound down, the staff congregated in the kitchen. Sylvain wandered in with a bottle of champagne. 

“Isn’t that premature?” Linhardt asked through a yawn. 

“Nope!” Sylvain said, sounding manic. His hands shook as he poured. “She tipped me. She gave me a tip. She put a 20 in my jar. I feel like a stripper. Did you know she’s hot? Like super hot. Scary hot. She gave me a 20. What does that even mean?” 

“You’re babbling,” Ingrid said. 

“Am I supposed to propose?” 

The champagne overflowed the glass and spilled onto his hands, but Sylvain didn’t seem to notice. Ingrid took the bottle from him. 

The dining room clean and the lights shut off, the staff once again filled up the kitchen. It was less of a celebration of their yet unknown victory and more a release of the anticipation that had built up. Sylvain kept going on and on about his tip, Ingrid actually loosened up to laugh with him. Linhardt managed to stay upright long enough to finish a glass before returning to his usual spot to nap. Dimitri looked two seconds from joining him, all his hard work finally culminating to their current milestone. Cyril had apple juice. 

Ashe had left early. _Dedue pretended not to notice._

He kept to himself, as much as one could in such a situation. He nodded and thanked every good job and congratulations. He sipped his champagne. 

He let himself be proud. 

The clock from midnight into the next day. One by one, the staff peeled off from the group to get to their homes. Dedue managed to linger, almost looking busy, but anyone could see through that facade. 

Annette was the last to leave. She stood in the door. 

“Want me to keep the lights on?” she asked, amused. 

“No thank you,” Dedue said. 

She gave him a little smile and sighed. 

“Good to see you like this,” she said. “Been a minute.” 

“Good night Annette,” he said with a nod. 

She gave him one last smile, the same genuine relief from before, before shutting off the light and closing the door. Leaving Dedue alone in his haven. His sanctuary. 

He stood in the dark, relishing the feel of his kitchen. How once again it was his home. How he felt at ease. He picked up the last of his champagne, the single glass he’d been nursing all night, and sipped from it, staring over the room. The ovens, the stoves, the counter tops. All gleaming and whispered quiet words to him. 

And for just a moment, he remembered another kitchen. Like a dream. Warm and inviting, one where he could barely reach the counter, one that always smelled just right. 

Dedue’s smile faltered. He looked to his feet. 

_your best_

Things had almost been normal again. If only for a moment.

The door to the back slammed open and the street light from the parking lot flooded in. A familiar figure stood in the door way, hunched over, but Dedue knew him immediately. 

Ashe laughed bitterly. 

“Of course you’re still here,” he said. 

“Ashe.” Dedue stood upright, placing his glass down. “What are you doing here?” 

Ashe stalked into the kitchen. He opened his mouth to say something but only a choking laugh came out. He was rabid, his eyes wide and brows downturned. He smiled but there was no warmth in it. Ashe shook one finger at Dedue, tried to speak again, then gave up. He turned in place, looking up at the ceiling for the words. 

“Ashe,” Dedue said, more stern. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting!” Ashe finally managed, whirling place. “Its my fault really for hoping so much.” 

Dedue’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he frowned at his line cook. 

“I kept hoping and hoping and just thinking that maybe . . . maybe you’d change your mind,” Ashe said. “Which was just stupid of me.” 

“Ashe,” Dedue said with all the authority he would at the pass. 

“And I keep trying to figure out why,” Ashe said. “You’re hiding it and I don’t. Understand. Why.” 

His hands ran through his hair, frustration evident in a too wide smile. 

“Go home, Ashe,” Dedue said. 

“I thought maybe Dimitri was holding you back or something. That maybe he was dictating what the menu was supposed to be, but nope.” Ashe continued on as if Dedue hadn’t said anything. As if Dedue weren’t there. “You could serve literally anything and he would accept it. He would love it! He has so much faith in you and you’re still keeping this from him.” 

Dedue took a stalking step forward, his hands curling into fists. 

“Go. Home. Ashe.” 

“And then I thought!” Ashe laughed again, his hands stretched out wide. “You’re keeping it to yourself. That you’re being selfish and not letting anyone have it. But thats not you!” 

Ashe finally looked Dedue dead in the eyes. He was still smiling, that ranting wild bitter thing. A foreign expression that had no place being on Ashe’s face. The words poured from his mouth like barbs. 

“You’re not selfish!” Ashe laughed. 

Dedue’s mouth twitched into a sneer. His fists tightened. Blood pumped in his ears. 

“You’re honorable and kind and you would never. . .” Finally that smile began to drop, dissipating as it had those nights ago. “So maybe. Maybe it was that you were protecting Duscur’s memory. That you were keeping it safe.” 

Duscur. The way Ashe said it rang in Dedue’s ears. Different from how it was usually spat out or sent with sympathy. It was natural and normal and clean, unlike the rest of his rant. A careful stone that Ashe had placed and Dedue hated the way he was thankful for the treatment. 

His chest heaved. He couldn’t help the way he tensed up, becoming bigger, the intimidating presence everyone else saw. 

Ashe seemed to miss it. 

He stepped closer, his smile distorting, transforming into a frown. Eyes still wide and angry and aimed at Dedue. 

“But no,” Ashe said. “Thats not it either. Because you shared it with me. You shared Duscur with _me._ ” 

“Ashe,” Dedue practically growled. A threat. That the path he was treading was one he should avoid. 

“And then.” Ashe stepped into Dedue’s space, close enough that Dedue could almost feel his body heat, close enough that he had to tilt his chin to look up at Dedue. “I got it.” 

There he was. So close again. Dedue could almost feel the heat from the pan, smell the garlic. His mind reeled, playing out all those delicious scenarios simultaneously. His blood boiled under the sheer penetrating look Ashe was giving him. Every word hit like a brick and Dedue wanted to shout at him, to shake him, to make him stop and keep him going. 

Dedue wanted. 

“You’re afraid,” Ashe said. 

Dedue’s muscles twitched. His eyes snapped wide. His nostrils flared. 

All trace of a smile had disappeared from Ashe’s face leaving nothing behind except an ugly scowl. 

“You’re afraid to share your food,” he said. “You were afraid to share it with me. I remember that.” 

Bile built in the back of Dedue’s throat. His fingernails dug painfully into his palms. 

“You’re afraid that if you share whats so close to you that someone will turn you down or reject it,” Ashe continued, each word hitting its mark and landing true. “You’re afraid that it will be seen as bad or negative or anything other than what you want it to be. So why bother right?” 

Ashe tried to laugh again, but it died before it could get anywhere. 

“Why even let anyone else see?” he continued. “If no one gets the chance to taste your food, then no one can ever say anything bad about it, am I right?” 

He was. 

“So why take the risk?” Ashe’s voice cracked. 

The moment between them was taut enough to snap in two. A pulled line of sheer tension that Dedue could feel in his stomach, in his mind, in his very core. The angry Ashe in front of him, the smiling Ashe he knew, the way he moaned when he ate Dedue’s food and the way he moaned in Dedue’s dreams, all of it blending into a blur and forming the disappointment that stood before him. 

Dedue’s whole body coiled.

Ashe stood up straight. His arms were stiff at his sides, hands curled into fists. His eyes swept Dedue over, appraising him, and finding him lacking. 

“There are a great many things I’ve thought about you,” Ashe said. “But I never thought you’d be a coward.” 

There was no thought. 

Dedue grabbed Ashe by the face, squeezing his chin and cheeks. Ashe choked in surprise. Dedue pushed forward and Ashe hit the counter, pots and pans rattling to the ground. Closer still and Dedue's mouth crashed against Ashe’s in a fierce kiss. 

Taking exactly what he wanted. 

And a second later his mind caught up with him. 

Cold blood pumped through his veins and his eyes snapped wide. He had done it. He had assaulted Ashe. All his repression and restraint, every horrible fantasy that had built up, had bubbled over, and desecrated reality. 

Dedue had attacked Ashe. 

He needed to get off him, he needed to apologize. Working a mile a minute, his mind tried to come up with what to do next, but all he had was abject failure. Everything had gone so wrong. 

Dedue’s hand shook as he released Ashe’s face, ready to retreat, but a hand clamped on the back of his neck and the lips against his pushed back in return. Ashe clung to Dedue's sleeve and yanked his body closer, his mouth moving against Dedue’s. Forcing Dedue to not run away.

Dedue’s hands hovered not knowing where to touch. A tongue pushed against his lips and he complied, letting it invade his mouth. Ashe groaned and arched his body, pressing up against Dedue. 

This was not fantasy. 

It was reality.

It was happening. 

Dedue snapped and wrapped his arms around Ashe. His hand splayed wide over the small of Ashe’s back, bending him to his will. He gripped the back of Ashe’s head, half pulling on his hair. He met Ashe’s tongue, tasting him. Everything so much better than anything his mind could conjure. 

Ashe’s hand clawed at his jacket. Nails raked over Dedue’s arm. He groaned and whimpered into Dedue’s mouth, his body bending where Dedue wanted it. 

Ashe’s hand groped and searched, crawling to the front of Dedue’s chest. He grabbed a fistful of Dedue’s jacket and the top snaps popped apart. 

“I want you,” Ashe breathed against Dedue’s lips. 

Dedue pushed in again, shoving Ashe against the counter. Ashe slid up to sit on the counter and pulled Dedue closer, pulled him in between his legs, kept pulling on the buttons of his chef's jacket. Dedue ripped at his jacket and managed to open it for Ashe, shucking it quickly off his shoulders and to the ground where it was promptly forgotten. There were more important things. Like leaning in and continuing his assault. 

Dedue framed Ashe’s face between his hands and kissed him fiercely again. Without the element of surprise, Ashe was able to meet his vigor. He tilted his head, mouth open and wide and panting into Dedue’s. His hands wandered, clawing over Dedue’s chest, over his arms, down his back. Ashe’s legs coiled around his hips and pushed on the back of Dedue’s thighs, hauling him closer and closer. 

Dedue couldn’t hold out. He needed to know. He needed to touch. 

Ashe felt as good in his arms, just as he imagined. Better than that. Dedue’s hands slipped easily around his waist, joining Ashe in pressing their bodies together. Undulating against each other. Practically crawling into one another. Dedue whimpered and moaned, needing more. His hand dragged, stiff with want, pulling over Ashe’s frame. 

He pulled and pulled Ashe closer. He leaned in more, needing to taste more, needing more of Ashe. 

Ashe’s ass hit the edge of the counter and he lost his balance. He fell backwards with a small yelp and his back hit stainless steel. It gonged under his weight and he was left staring up at Dedue with wide eyes. 

Dedue hovered over him. In any other situation it would have been threatening. Maybe it was. 

His gaze traveled down Ashe’s body. From the mussed hair to the wide eyes to the bruised mouth. To the perfect neck down the heaving chest trying to catch his breath. All the way down to where the hem of his shirt had been disturbed. 

There was pale skin. There were freckles. 

Dedue’s hand sat firmly on Ashe’s hip. Without thinking, he pushed it up, sliding the hem of Ashe’s shirt up higher. At the scant reveal of his lower stomach, Dedue gasped. He stopped. 

What were they doing? It had come on so sudden, so fast, that Dedue could only react. In the brief reprieve, common sense knocked at Dedue’s door. It told him where they were, who they were. It told him to stop and think. 

But Ashe took Dedue by the wrist. Slowly, he guided Dedue’s hand higher and higher, hiking up his shirt even more. Dedue sucked in a long harrowing breath at the slow reveal of milky white skin. Even in the dark he could make out the smattering of freckles across his skin. Ashe did not stop, not even when his chest was revealed, not even when Dedue’s thumb trailed over his nipple. Ashe's breath hitched. 

Common sense had no place there. 

Dedue leaned in and stole Ashe’s lips once more. 

Dedue explored Ashe. His hand moved over Ashe’s chest, feeling over tight muscle and touching parts that he only dreamt of. His free hand reached down to Ashe’s hip, to his thigh, tracing it as Ashe’s leg hitched up Dedue’s side. 

Ashe was a man possessed. He practically growled into Dedue’s mouth, his hands touching everything he could, cataloging every last inch. He clawed through Dedue’s hair and pulled strands from its tie. He kept touching Dedue’s arms, pulled on his shirt, dug into his skin. Teeth pulled at Dedue’s lip and Ashe whined. Needing so much more. 

Dedue propped one leg up on the counter, hiking Ashe’s leg up further. The effect of it was instantaneous. They connected, a friction between them. Ashe groaned and pushed his hips off the steel, grinding to meet Dedue’s painfully hard erection. Dedue reacted in kind, pushing back down on him. They moved like waves, sharing hungry kisses, pushing against each other, needing that sweet friction. 

Ashe just as desperate for it as Dedue had been. 

“Chef,” he whined. 

Dedue stopped, pulling away from the kiss. He looked down at the man beneath him, close enough that he could taste his breath. Ashe’s eyes were wide and frantic, jumping to look from one eye then the next. 

“Say my name,” Dedue pleaded. 

A shaking sigh escaped Ashe and he smiled. He smiled! That slow sweet smile that he always had for Dedue. The one that was designed specifically for him. 

“Dedue,” Ashe breathed. 

Dedue whined as he leaned in to kiss Ashe again. The frantic need from just a moment before had died down, leaving behind only them. Ashe held onto Dedue’s face, pulling on his skin, holding him close and tight. His hips moved, grinding at a slower pace that the two of them matched. The heel of his sneaker dug into Dedue’s backside and pressed him closer still. 

Ashe’s hands trailed down Dedue’s body. He touched and felt and found things that pleased him, if the deep sound in the back of his throat was any indicator. Down over Dedue’s chest, tracing down his sides, pushing in enough to pull on his shirt. Until they curled in front and traced over the metal of Dedue’s belt buckle. 

Dedue pulled back again to look into those large pleading eyes. 

“Dedue,” he panted. “I. . . I want . . . I want you. . .” 

Dedue swallowed. 

“Yes,” he whined. 

Without looking away from Dedue’s face, Ashe bit his lip and got to work. Clever fingers were quick to open Dedue’s belt, to pop the button of his jeans, to pull down his fly. He finally looked down between them to focus as he pulled out Dedue’s cock. He gasped, his body tensing, his hand curling around the shaft. Dedue groaned and bowed his head to Ashe’s neck. 

“Ashe,” he said against his skin. 

Ashe groaned and threw back his head, jerking at Dedue. He held the back of Dedue’s neck and pressed his face to Dedue’s cheek, panting in his ear. 

“Dedue.” 

Dedue pulled back and immediately went for Ashe’s pants. He was desperate, ripping at them like a present. Ashe worked with him, managing to kick off just one shoe. Dedue pulled Ashe’s jeans down one leg, his briefs down just enough, and that was all he needed. He groped at Ashe’s erection and delighted in the loud and low moan that shuddered through Ashe’s wanting body. 

Dedue watched as Ashe writhed under his touch. He ran his hand tight up and down Ashe’s cock, pleasuring him, just to watch Ashe’s back arch like that. 

Ashe lost himself. The hand on Dedue’s cock faltered, slackening. But Dedue needed more. 

He leaned in to capture Ashe’s mouth again, wet and hot and sloppy. He pushed in closer. Closer. Until he was crawling up onto the counter between Ashe’s legs. Until he hovered over him, spreading his thighs wide. Until he could push their cocks together and take them both into one hand. 

“Dedue!” Ashe called out and his voice echoed off the high walls. His hand slapped against the edge of the counter, holding on for dear life. 

Dedue humped up into his fist, grinding their cocks together. His hand moved, working them over a little too quickly. He needed this. He hungered for this. Nothing less would do. 

Ashe’s eyes went wide and wild again, staring up at Dedue with something akin to fear. He choked, needing to say something, but unable to get anything else. Ashe swallowed hard and clamped his hand on Dedue’s shoulder, his nails digging into exposed skin. 

Dedue fucked up into his hand. With every thrust he shoved Ashe up and down the countertop. Pushing him further and further to the edge until his head flopped off the other side. 

“Dedue. . .” he panted. “Dedue. . .” 

His head thrown back, eyes closed, repeating Dedue’s name like a prayer. He fucked back against Deude, his foot still dug into Dedue’s back, the other weighed down by his pants and flopped off the table. 

“Dedue. . .” 

Dedue could feel the desperation in Ashe’s grip, the way his nails dug into skin. It pulled him down, pulled him closer, until their foreheads touched. 

“I’m going to. . . I’m going. . .” 

Ashe’s eyes were smudged and hazed over. Spittle had begun to form at the corner of his lips. He looked at Dedue like he saw nothing else. 

“Yes,” Dedue said. “Yes. Please. Ashe.” 

Ashe threw his head back and called out into the kitchen. His cock jumped in Dedue’s hand, cum spurting out onto his exposed chest. His heel drove into Dedue’s back, his hips thrust up, and the force of it brought on Dedue’s own climax. He pressed his head down, hiding in Ashe’s neck, as he came along with him. 

It was a long painful moment as they settled down. Dedue heaved, trying to catch his breath, in time with Ashe’s own heavy pants. His eyes ached from having shut so tight and they fought him as he opened them again. 

Their evidence was spilled across Ashe’s body. Softening cocks were still gripped tight within his hand. He let go with a jolt. 

The real world came crashing in at once. What had just happened between them. What it meant. Where they had _done it._ The critic, Ashe’s ire, food. Everything. 

Dedue shook as he looked up, just in time for Ashe to raise his head. It lolled back into place, half unable to support itself without the countertop. His eyes met Dedue’s. 

They stared in silence, Dedue’s mind screaming at him _WHAT HAD HE DONE._

But Ashe only cupped his face. He lifted his head off the counter and brushed his lips against Dedue’s. A kiss as soft as their first one. Where the world stopped and shattered. Lost in safety, lost in comfort. 

This time. 

Dedue stayed. 

Ashe settled back down, staring up at Dedue. There may have been questions, maybe regrets, but Ashe lived in that space, in that moment. Simply stroking Dedue’s face. 

And Dedue wasn’t going to let him go again. 

“Come home with me,” he rasped. 

Ashe blinked the haze from his eyes. Smooth and slow, that smile made for Dedue grew across his face. 

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCREECHING IN ASHEDUE
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	12. Missing Ingredient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue was humming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been living in my head for so long that writing these chapters is just transcribing the words at this point.

Dedue was humming. 

He threw in a little more paprika into the sauce and hummed. His ladle stirred through the pan and he was humming. 

He was downright two seconds away from dancing. 

Morning sunshine warmed his little kitchen as the sun scaled the sky. It beamed in through the windows, lighting up his garden and gleaming off the floor. A whole night had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. 

For the first time in weeks, Dedue went to sleep without intrusive fantasies. 

Because they had all come true. 

Dedue hummed. Just a little more pepper, just to give it a kick. 

There had been little to no conversation. Simple quiet laughter, a puff of disbelief behind a breath. There had been a _’I can’t believe that just happened’_ from Ashe and a soft hum in agreement from Dedue. Nothing resolved, nothing discussed, only a sweet relief from the both of them. 

Then, succumbing to exhaustion. A weeks long exhaustion. 

Dedue’s internal alarm clock woke him. It was odd to wake up to someone else sharing his bed. Something he had never had before. Something he didn’t know he yearned for. 

He let Ashe sleep. Ashe deserved some rest after everything Dedue had put him through. 

And so, Dedue snuck down to his kitchen and did what he’d been wanting to do. 

He cooked for Ashe. And he hummed.

The liquid began to cook off, making the sauce congeal into something thicker. It was time for the eggs. One by one, Dedue cracked them into the heat and instantly they began to cook. The yolks kept soft so they may run into the red sauce, thick and sticky. 

He’d need some toast. Maybe season it. Definitely season it. But with what? What would go? Ashe would know. 

“Good morning,” a voice rasped, clogged with sleep. 

Dedue looked over his shoulder. Then did a double take. Ashe stood half way down the stairs, barefoot and bare legs revealed. His hair poked up at odd angles, in desperate need of a brush. Green eyes blinked sleepily, barely able to open. He wore a sweater that was far too big for him and hung past his hips and fingers, rubbing one eye with the cuffed sleeve. Dedue recognized the Garreg Mach logo across the chest and stood up a little straighter in surprise. Ashe smiled weakly and held the ends of the sweater, also examining the logo. 

“I hope its alright,” he said. “I didn’t want to come down in my underwear.” 

It was more than alright. Ashe looked like he belonged. With Dedue. 

“Its alright,” Dedue said, turning back to his stove and trying to quell the beating of his heart. 

The pan burbled, pockets of air popping in the sauce, but still Dedue could hear the quiet slap of feet against linoleum. Of Ashe crossing the room, coming closer. 

Soft fingertips brushed his back and Dedue’s skin jolted with the want to be touched. A palm rested against the flat of it, asking a question. _Is this alright? Is this okay? Can I do this?_

Yes. Yes yes and yes. 

Ashe’s hand slid over his back and then another. Two arms wound their way around his waist, coming to meet in front, until Ashe could rest his body against Dedue’s. He sighed, pressing his forehead to Dedue’s back and nuzzling into his heat. 

Dedue no longer had the air to hum. His heart beat heavy as it had the entirety of the night before. Serving a well renowned critic was easier than this. Dedue knew his breathing was a little louder, a little staggered, but if Ashe noticed, he didn’t comment. 

Dedue let go of the pan handle and rested his hand over Ashe’s enclasped ones. Like he belonged there. Like they belonged there. 

“That smells good,” Ashe murmured into Dedue’s back. 

“Mm,” was all Dedue managed to say. 

Slowly, sneakily, one of those tender hands let loose and reached out for the pan. Dedue rapped it with the ladle. 

“Ow!” Ashe said, pulling back from the hug. 

“Its not done yet,” Dedue said. 

Ashe walked around until Dedue could see him, shaking his hand and licking off what little sauce transferred to his fingers. The look he gave was supposed to be cross or offended, but fondness spoiled it and could never be hidden. 

“Don’t hit so hard,” Ashe said. Then dropped his voice. “It might give me ideas.” 

That got Dedue’s full attention. He stared at Ashe with wide eyes and practically swallowed his tongue. Ashe’s coy smile could end him. 

Ashe laughed under his breath, just as flustered as Dedue if that blush were to be believed. He wandered through the kitchen, inspecting it. 

There had been little time for a formal tour. They hadn’t even turned on the lights. Dedue indicated where the kitchen was, where the tv was, where the bathroom was. Ashe had asked to see the bedroom. 

With the flurry of the night before behind them, Ashe welcomed himself to take his time. He walked softly around the tiny square footage of the first floor, hands folded behind his back, taking in details. The spartan decor Dedue had brought into the home. The pale pink that had been painted on the walls that Dedue couldn’t change. Not without getting his security deposit back. An untouched tv he thought he needed, the land line phone still fixed to the wall. 

A small window overlooking the garden. 

Ashe stopped there and examined what should have been a backyard and instead was overflowing with produce and flora. He leaned against the sill. His lids still heavy with sleep and smile soft and gentle. He aimed that smile at Dedue and Dedue realized he was staring. He whipped his head back around to focus on breakfast. It was done. He shut off the stove. 

Ashe situated himself at the island as Dedue sliced crusty bread and seasoned it accordingly. He focused on his task, making a point not to look at Ashe, when it dawned on him. 

He could do that now. 

Dedue paused midspread and looked to the man in his kitchen. Ashe sat on one of the stools, foot bouncing on the ground, chin rested in his hands. His smile widened at Dedue’s attention. 

Dedue went back to his task, unable to keep his own smile to himself. 

He presented the filled cast iron to Ashe, resting it on trivets. Toasted bread was passed to Ashe’s hands. 

“No presentation?” Ashe asked. 

“That is the presentation,” Dedue said, dipping his toast directly into the center of a nestled egg. As wanted, the yolk ran. 

Ashe eagerly followed suit. 

It was a simple routine to fall back into. Ashe took that first bite and Dedue’s attention was focused solely on him. Waiting, eager, desperate for the feedback. 

Ashe rocked back in his chair and threw his head back with a groan. 

“Its so good!” The exclamation was half whine, half ecstasy. “Oh, I missed eating your food so much!” 

Dedue’s heart fluttered. He tried to cover it up with another bite but couldn’t stop the crawl of joy that tingled just under his skin. Ashe was eager to dig in again. 

“This is so good,” he said shaking his head. “I’m sorry I keep saying it but it really is excellent.” 

Dedue tried to keep his smile to himself. He’d share everything he could think of just to hear Ashe that happy. Happy with him. 

Ashe was simultaneously eating too quick and savoring every bite. Every mouthful was filled with a heavy breath of ecstasy and careful consideration of the taste. 

Dedue lived in those moments. 

“Whats it called?” Ashe asked. 

“Shakshuka,” Dedue said. 

“Is it from Duscur?” 

It was strange for Dedue. Talking of Duscur was always an awkward painful process. The way people around Dedue talked about it, stepping around eggshells, careful not to bring up wounds that were perpetually open. Or there was instant judgement. A sneer as if there was a foul smell in the air. Deciding on their feelings on Dedue long before he opened his mouth. 

But Ashe spoke simply. Was it from Duscur. That was all. 

Like it was still standing. Just a place that food still came from.

Dedue appreciated it. 

“Yes,” he said. “My mother used to make it for me.” 

Ashe’s face softened. He rested his chin on the back of his hand, the half eaten bread dangling from his fingers. The smile he wore was warmer than the sun shining through his windows.

“I can never quite get it right,” Dedue said going for another swipe of sauce. 

“You probably never will.” 

Dedue stopped with the bread half in the sauce and stared blankly at Ashe. Ashe held up his hands. 

“Ah that came out bad, I'm sorry,” he said. “What I mean is . . . hmmm. . .”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking for the words. Dedue liked this particular nervous energy to him, a far cry better than the one tinged with anticipation, hopeful or otherwise. 

“When someone makes you something, you can taste it,” he said. 

“I don’t follow,” Dedue said. 

“Um. Well. Lets see.” Ashe’s mouth pulled to the side. “When you get something from a high end restaurant, the food is good, but its never the same as when someone cooks for you. When someone makes something special, just for _you_ , it has a quality that no professional chef could ever replicate. Like theres some kind of missing ingredient. It was made for you and no one else and thats something that I think can be tasted.” 

Dedue’s brows pinched together. He looked down at his shakshuka, still wondering what it was his mother did that he couldn’t. 

“Just like you’ll never be able to taste what I’m tasting,” Ashe said, going for another dip of egg. “Because you made this for _me_ and only _I_ can taste that.” 

Dedue looked steadily up at Ashe. Conceptually, he understood, but food was food. Expertly crafted or homemade it was still just food. Flavors went into it, not intentions. 

But, he supposed, he could understand. 

“Or maybe I’m just talking nonsense,” Ashe said. 

“Maybe,” Dedue said and Ashe laughed. 

A comfortable silence blanketed over them as they shared the pan. There was far too much for two people, but Ashe seemed determined to have it all. Their bellies filled with the warmth of breakfast, settling into sleepy comfort. Quietly, they slowed down. Conversation having come to a stand still. 

Ashe swiped a bit of burnt sauce from the side of the pan and paused with his finger in his mouth. His eyes dulled over, hazing into nothing. Dedue watched him, taking in details, and knowing where this needed to go. 

He sighed heavily, folding his hands on the countertop, and stared at the formica. 

“I was hoping we could put this off,” Ashe said. “Just for a little bit longer.” 

Dedue looked over his shoulder at the clock on the stove. 

“Its getting late,” he said. “We’re going to have to go to work soon.” 

Ashe’s eyes squeezed shut and he dropped his face in his hand with an over exaggerated groan. Dedue shifted in his seat, pretending to straighten himself out, cleared his throat. Stalling as much as Ashe. 

“What are we going to do?” he asked quietly. 

Ashe looked up between his fingers. His eyes big and pained. 

“I can’t go back to pretending I don’t care for you,” he whispered. 

“Mm,” Dedue grunted. He tried to shift his fingers but he held on too tight. 

“Not after last night,” Ashe said. “Especially not after last night, I think we proved that. Three times.” 

A smile quirked at the corner of Dedue’s lips. 

“Unless you don’t count the third one,” Ashe said quickly, sitting upright. 

“Oh, I count the third one,” Dedue said evenly. 

Another smile, another blush, each one Dedue coveted. He enjoyed the reprieve, even on the dip back down into the weight of their situation. 

“I’m not going to fire you,” Dedue repeated. “And I’m not going to ask you to quit.” 

“I don’t want to quit,” Ashe said. “I really don’t want to leave HKF.” 

“Nor I.” Dedue couldn’t raise his eyes. He looked over the rapidly cooling breakfast, the crumbs on the countertop, to where Ashe’s hand lay. His own hand slid over, fingertips brushing against soft skin. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said. 

Dedue hadn’t heard his voice so painfully small. Not in a long time. Ashe reciprocated, sliding his hand over Dedue’s and gripping it tight. As he had the night before. As Dedue would want him to, time and time again. Dedue returned it, sure it was tight enough to hurt, but Ashe didn’t complain. 

Scenarios of the future played out in his head. What would happen next, how this would look. Not the sweet things of how their private relationship would be, but how the public would see it. Air constricted in his chest. 

“This is a scandal,” Ashe said. 

“Mm,” Dedue responded again. Weaker this time. 

“No matter how you look at it,” Ashe said. “Even if you weren’t a public figure, I’d still be an employee sleeping with his boss. The situation is not exactly. . .” 

“Favorable,” Dedue said. 

“Thats a nice way of putting it,” Ashe laughed. Even in that moment still able to find humor. Dedue tried to smile, but it was weak. 

“Its not like HKF is some little company,” Ashe said. “This is definitely going to be a _thing._ ” 

“It will certainly cast HKF in a very specific light,” Dedue said. 

“And after the Rhea review.” Ashe groaned and ran his hand over his face. “You want a restaurant to be known for its food, not for some gossip.”

All the implications swirled and dizziness swam through Dedue’s head. He clutched Ashe’s hand like he was a lifeline. 

“I am,” he said slowly. “Very bad at answering questions.” 

Ashe puffed out a laugh, his whole body jumping from it. He looked pitifully at Dedue, still filled to the brim with that same fondness. 

“I know,” he said. “When Annette was telling me about this job I read your one and only interview.” 

Dedue looked away. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” he muttered. 

“Well maybe,” Ashe laughed. The sound of it doing more to calm Dedue’s nerves than anything else could. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to be offended. 

Chuckles dropped down until they faded completely. The sounds of summer birds sang in through the window, muffled by the glass. The stove still ticked as it finished cooling down. 

Dedue did not let up on Ashe’s hand. 

“What if we. . .” Ashe started and shook his head, immediately shunning the idea. 

“What?” Dedue asked. 

“Its a bad idea,” Ashe said. 

“I will accept any ideas at this point,” Dedue said. 

Ashe bit his lip and looked back at Dedue. His eyes darted, searching Dedue’s face. For what, Dedue didn’t know. 

“What if we just didn’t tell anyone?” Ashe said quickly. 

Dedue sat up a little straighter. 

“You mean lie?” he asked. 

Ashe winced. After a long moment, sighed and looked off to the side. 

“I suppose thats one way to put it,” he muttered. 

“Lie to Dimitri,” Dedue said, each word agonizing to get out. 

The face Ashe wore was pure pain. He rested his chin in his palm, wrapping his hand over his lower face. 

“I told you it was a bad idea,” he said behind his hand. 

It might have been. But the alternatives were worse. Dooming HKF to a bad reputation and essentially stunting not just their time in the kitchen but possibly everyone elses. 

Or go back to not being with one another. 

Dedue was ready to try. He wanted to try. There was no going back. They had started something and there was nothing more Dedue could do. It was no longer a matter of wanting a relationship with Ashe but needing Ashe in his life. 

His hand squeezed, pulsing once for comfort. Not just for Ashe. 

“Okay,” he said. 

Ashe’s eyes slid over to him. 

“Thats what we’ll do,” Dedue said. 

Ashe’s head rose from his hand and his mouth hung slack. 

“Its. . .” Dedue swallowed. “It isn’t the greatest of ideas, you are correct there. But it is the best one we have. And while I don’t. . . while I don’t like the idea of lying to Dimitri. . . I’ll simply tell him if he asks.” 

“Dedue.” The way Ashe said it told them both how that didn’t make it any better. And still, Dedue delighted in the way Ashe said his name. 

“Until then, we won’t tell anyone.” Dedue wrapped his other hand around Ashe’s and looked him solidly in the eye. “I can’t go back to pretending I don’t care for you.” 

The soft smile that graced Ashe’s face was enough to break Dedue’s heart and pull it back together again. Ashe sighed and leaned across the counter, wrapping a hand around the back of Dedue’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and Dedue counted the lashes. 

“Okay,” he said. “Thats what we’ll do then.” 

Dedue went slack under Ashe’s touch, smiled, and also closed his eyes. He could feel the heat of the sun, the warmth of the man in front of him, the burn of freshly awakened feelings simmering into the comfort of a new relationship. Finally. 

There was no turning back. 

Ashe sighed and sat back in his chair, patting Dedue’s hand with finality. He glanced at the clock again. 

“How much time do we have?” he asked. 

“We have a little time,” Dedue said, following his eyes to the digital read out. 

Ashe smiled and slid off his chair. Two steps around the counter to slide in between Dedue’s legs, to wrap his arms around Dedue’s neck, to make Dedue’s heart beat a little faster. Ashe’s eyes danced, looking over Dedue’s face to take in the details he was allowed to. He slipped in a little closer still until Dedue could taste the paprika on his breath. 

“How would you like to spend it?” he asked, voice hushed. 

Dedue cupped Ashe’s face and leaned in to meet his lips. 

To start something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS PLAN IS FOOLPROOF
> 
> SURELY NOTHING CAN GO WRONG
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	13. Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay,” she said. “So. Last night I left my purse here.” 
> 
> A silence hung between them. When she didn’t elaborate, Dedue looked around the room. 
> 
> “Did you need help finding it?” he asked. 
> 
> Annette paused to give him a wide eyed incredulous stare before shaking her head furiously. 
> 
> “No, no,” she said. “I know where it is. I just.” 
> 
> She puffed out another sigh and clapped both her arms at her sides like a frustrated penguin. 
> 
> “I came back to get it,” she said. “And saw. . . _something_. . . very interesting.”

They were once again in the kitchen long before everyone else. With the spring hours swinging closer to summer, the sun had been up for some time and was in full effect through the high kitchen windows, leaving the metal surface tops warm to the touch. Gone was the chill of early spring and rainy days. The fans swirled lazily overhead and the A/C hummed delicately in the background. 

Ashe had taken the station directly next to Dedue. 

Dedue worked on the unnecessary prep. He peeled potatoes, cleaned them and set them aside to be chopped up by his staff later. Next to him came the clean _chop chop chop_ s of Ashe’s paring knife, working on the cocktail garnishes. Tangerines. 

A carefully constructed peel slid across the counter. Peeled off in one go and curled around itself, strategic cuts made into the rind to make it truly blossom like a rose with no name. 

Dedue looked side long at the man he spent the night with. 

Ashe managed to maintain eye contact, a goofy looking smile across his face, before he laughed and tucked his chin to his chest, driving his knife down in one solid _chop_. Dedue’s own smile wasn’t much better. 

He slid the peel flower closer and tucked it into the shelving where almost no one would be able to see it. Simply smiling next to Ashe. 

There had been a bubble around them and Dedue wasn’t ready for it to pop. A balloon tight in his chest filled with dancing confetti. A quiet space for the two of them. The laughter on Ashe’s breath that Dedue felt on his lips. Their quiet walk back to work, commenting on how they no longer needed jackets, pinkies brushing against one another. A simple question of how to make shakshuka. All of it. 

Dedue wasn’t ready for the crawl of anticipation and excitement up the roller coaster to end. 

But it had to. Eventually. 

Keys needlessly jangled in the back door and it swung open with too much force. Mercedes stumbled in, surprised that it was already unlocked. 

“Oh,” she said, her mouth a perfect O. 

"Good morning Mercedes," Ashe said with _too_ much pep. 

"Good morning,” Mercedes laughed. “I didn’t expect you to be here so early.” 

Ashe turned to Dedue, purely reactionary, for some explanation. An excuse for why they were _both_ there so early. A tingling panic ran through Dedue, sure that in that small action Ashe would give them away. Ashe looked back to Mercedes and shrugged. 

“Just early I guess,” he said. 

“Well, here I thought you’d be normal like the others,” Mercedes said, her modest heels clacking as she crossed the kitchen. “Chef seems to be rubbing off on you.” 

Ashe shot Dedue another little look, side long and small smile full of secrets, conveying just _how much_ Dedue was rubbing off on him. Dedue chose not to meet it, letting his face heat instead. He could see the restrained laughter and the way Ashe bit his lower lip before returning to work, leaving Dedue with a swirl of coveted memories. Of Ashe the night before, on his bed. That morning sitting at his kitchen counter, licking the last of tomato sauce off his finger. 

Dedue almost took some of his thumb off on the next peel. He didn’t know if his rampant runaway thoughts were better or worse now that they were real. Dedue breathed out slow. The next peel was more deliberate and careful as he focused his thoughts thinking nothing but potato and trying hard not to look at Ashe. 

As was typical, Annette followed in shortly after Mercedes. 

“Good morning,” Ashe said with a wave of his knife. 

Annette stood in the doorway, one hand holding it open, and looked down the length of the kitchen with a thousand yard stare. She breathed in deep, put on her head waitress smile, and stepped inside. 

“Good morning,” she sang. 

Annette stopped at Dedue’s counter. She rested her palms on the steel and leaned over, like she did when she wanted to see what Dedue was cooking. She drummed her fingers and they made a wave of _clack clack clack._

“Chef,” she said. 

“Hm?” Dedue didn’t look up from his peel and did not stop his internal potato mantra. 

“Do you have a minute?” 

That stopped Dedue in his tracks. He slowly turned to look at Annette. Her normally friendly face held a gravity that was unsettling on her. He placed down his peeler. Annette jerked her head to the dining room and he followed her out. 

It was still dark inside, the lights not yet turned on and chairs placed up on tables. The large windows at the front only let in scant beams of sunshine, but over the course of the day, as the sun travelled, it would illuminate in a soft glow. 

Annette practically marched to the center of the room before stopping short and whirling in place. Dedue almost walked into her and fumbled to his own quick stop. He waited as she gathered her words, breathing in deep as if to speak a couple of times. Dedue was distinctly reminded of when he was a child, standing at a disappointed grandmother’s feet, as she sputtered to tell him what he had done wrong. Dedue waited for what he had done wrong. 

After another false start, Annette clapped her hands together and pointed steepled fingers at Dedue. 

“Okay,” she said. “So. Last night I left my purse here.” 

A silence hung between them. When she didn’t elaborate, Dedue looked around the room. 

“Did you need help finding it?” he asked. 

Annette paused to give him a wide eyed incredulous stare before shaking her head furiously. 

“No, no,” she said. “I know where it is. I just.” 

She puffed out another sigh and clapped both her arms at her sides like a frustrated penguin. 

“I came back to get it,” she said. “And saw. . . _something_. . . very interesting.” 

Realization was slow to settle on Dedue. It may have been something about the potato mantra still playing in his head or perhaps he simply didn’t want to accept the words that came from Annette’s mouth. 

Dedue breathed in sharp and looked away. He tried not to look at Annette and tried even harder not to look at Ashe. He looked to the front windows and a precision perfect beam of sun shot into his eye. He did not blink. 

“Yeah,” Annette said slowly. 

Dedue deserved that sun in the eye. _Already_ , before they had even made their pact, Ashe and Dedue had failed in keeping their secret. He breathed out slow and his breath shook. 

“How much.” He stopped to clear his throat, awkwardness riding his every nerve. “How much did you see?”

Annette’s eyes widened. 

“You two making out how much _was_ there to see!?” she said in a single breath. 

Dedue stared down that sunbeam. The words ‘making out’ affected him more than anything, made what they had done more real. The phrase was so mundane and not the grandiose emotions that raged within him. And he had _never_ thought that it would apply to him. He had never blushed that hard before, his face prickling from the sheer heat of it. 

“We cleaned up afterwards,” he said quietly. 

“Oh my god, Dedue.” 

Annette whirled in a circle and threw her hands up in the air. Nervous energy radiated from her as she moved, as if she had no idea what to do with her body. She paused to pinch the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut, trying to keep it all in. 

“Okay,” she said. “Okay!” 

Her voice cracked. Her hand flew away from her nose, palm open and up, eyes wide and staring at the ground. 

“Okay,” she said one more time. “I mean. It was bound to happen eventually.” 

Dedue finally turned his eyes to Annette, moving glacial slow, his body frozen on the spot. 

“Oh come on,” Annette said, recognizing his expression. “He was smitten from the first day. And you were obvious.” 

“I was not–” 

A quick look from Annette stopped that statement in its tracks. He looked down to his shoes. He wished he could go back to peeling potatoes. He wished he could go back to the moment where he woke up next to Ashe. 

“Have you told anyone?” he asked. His voice was painfully small. 

“No,” she said. “Who would I tell?” 

“Felix?” 

Annette snorted. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Even if I told him, he wouldn’t care,” she said. 

“He might tell Sylvain,” Dedue said. And even smaller, barely a whisper, “Or Dimitri.” 

Annette went still at that. Her brows furrowed and the twist of her arms slackened. Eyes darted just over Dedue’s shoulder and he knew who she was looking at. 

“Are you not going to tell Dimitri?” she asked. 

Shame welled up in Dedue again. He shifted in place, taking in every skuff of his shoes. 

“We wanted to keep it a secret,” he said. “To avoid . . . complications.” 

“Well stop making out in the kitchen,” Annette hissed. 

At that, Dedue managed to curl his hands. His mouth pressed into a thin line. He gave in and glanced into the kitchen. 

Ingrid had arrived and Ashe was talking with her animatedly. He was definitely more upbeat than he’d been in the last couple of weeks. Dedue hadn’t realized how downtrodden he had been, his infectious joy a shade dimmer than it was that morning. Or maybe Ashe was still riding the high from last night. As Dedue was. 

“How long have you been keeping this ‘secret’?” Annette asked, her fingers moving in air quotes and they hit a little too hard. 

Dedue looked to his shoes again. 

“This morning,” he said. 

Annette froze. Dedue wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, maybe another frustrated ‘oh my god’ at their inability to keep a secret, but it wasn’t the surprised look he got from her. 

“Really?” she asked. 

Dedue nodded. 

Astonishment blinked on her face as she once again donned that thousand yard stare. 

“Huh,” she said. “I thought you two might have been together for a while now. I mean, together, broken up, got back together. You were both acting very strange.” 

Dedue spared Ashe a glance. He was laughing at something Ingrid had said, and by the expression on her face she hadn’t intended it to be funny. A sunshine bright smile and even though Dedue couldn’t hear it through the glass, he knew it well. Ashe settled down and his eyes darted out into the dining room. 

Dedue quickly looked away, still his instinctual reaction. 

“So this all started last night?” Annette asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dedue said quickly. 

A smile finally graced Annette’s face. Full of pity, but a smile nonetheless. She leaned back and crossed her arms again, looking between Dedue and his. . . boyfriend. 

At the thought, a flutter beat against Dedue’s chest. The absolute knowledge that he was with Ashe. That they were together. That even in secret they were going to have some sort of relationship, some form of dating. 

Boyfriends. 

Dedue didn’t fight looking over, to watch his _boyfriend_ work. 

“Would you like some advice?” she asked. 

“Do you have some to give?” Dedue asked, not looking away from Ashe. 

“I dated Felix a full year before we told anyone,” she said. “And we were married for a full year before our wedding.” 

Dedue’s head whipped to look back at her. She nodded, thin mouthed, and commiserating in that shocking bit of information. 

“Oh yes,” she said. “He is a _very_ strange man and I love him _very_ much. He didn’t want anyone to know that he has feelings.” 

Dedue processed the information, staring her down, and she only kept nodding, making the point over and over again. Dedue recalled their wedding, how happy and tired Annette had been. He had assumed it had been from the day itself, not from a full year of keeping a secret marriage. From the annoyance on her face, he wondered what he was in for. Although their situations were different, he wondered about the toll this secret would take on him. On them. 

He was willing to take it. 

“Although the marriage thing was for his work and insurance.” Annette waved off the fact and went back to smiling up at Dedue. “So.” 

“What do we do?” he asked. 

She leaned in close, pointed a finger at him, and jabbed his chest as a punctuation. 

“Act. Normal,” she said with each beat. 

“Normal?” he asked. 

“Stop making moon eyes at each other. Stop bringing your weird fights into the kitchen. And stop. Flirting!” She prodded his chest again. 

“We. . . we weren't,” he attempted. 

“You very much were and I’ll say it again, it was _very_ obvious.”

Once again, pulled by sheer magnetism, Dedue’s gaze slid back to the kitchen, his thoughts dwelling back to the tangerine flower. Annette sighed. 

“No more late nights,” she said. “And no more early mornings. Don’t have alone time together at work. Don’t go home together. Leave separately and meet up later. Don’t go out together, no public displays of affection. And don’t make out at work. . . or _anything else_ at work.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Dedue said. 

Annette’s mouth pulled to the side and she gave Dedue a flat stare. 

“It won’t,” he insisted. 

She rolled her eyes. 

“I know I know,” she said. “But me and Felix. We had our slip ups here and there. So just know that you’re only human. Try not to be too complacent, but try not to be too anxious either.” 

Dedue breathed in deep and felt the anxiety of the conversation ebb away. He nodded. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“You’re welcome.” Annette smiled. “Just treat him like you would Ingrid. Or Linhardt. Maybe Caspar. And I’ll help out however I can.” 

Dedue nodded again, grateful to his friend. 

“Does anyone else know?” he asked. His voice crackled and rasped, speaking so quiet, as if he were afraid to break the secret out more. 

Annette shrugged. 

“Maybe the more gossipy members of my staff,” she said. “But I don’t think anyone in the kitchen knows. Mercedes hasn’t said anything to me. And Dimitri is so bad at reading people it probably will go straight over his head.” 

Dedue didn’t want to, but he agreed. Dimitri could sometimes miss certain social cues, but Dedue also missed them, only to be pointed out by the more conversationally adept. 

Satisfied, Annette nodded once, looking far more refreshed. 

“Alright, with that out of the way,” she said and held one hand to the kitchen. “Shall we?”

Dedue was shaking. He didn’t realize it until he started moving, but being found out, their secret being revealed, caused a jolt to his heart. He felt as if he were absent from his body, as if he were floating just two steps behind. His situation got better when he stepped into the kitchen. In his sanctuary, the world could be righted again. 

Ashe looked up from his spot, a look of pure concern etched onto his face. Dedue screamed in his head that Ashe should stop looking at him like that. All Dedue could do was school his face and look elsewhere. 

Ingrid looked up. 

“Whats wrong?” she asked. 

“Good morning to you too,” Annette said. “Its nothing, Dedue wanted to change the menu.” 

Accusatory eyes whipped to him, just as angered as Annette had been frustrated. 

“I’m not changing the menu,” he said flatly.

“I talked him down,” Annette said. 

Ingrid’s suspicious eyes slid from Dedue to Annette and back again. She sighed and waved her knife. 

“Good,” she said. “Save that kind of thing for a Monday. We don’t need it just before a weekend rush. Mercedes will murder you.” 

Dedue looked to Annette, disliking being looped into her lie, when he had his own to take care of. His eyes flicked back to his secret, to his lie, to see those big green eyes still filled with questions looking right back at him. 

The mantra of potato had been replaced with act normal, treat him normal, be normal. He stepped to the pass and looked at the little tangerine flower, still tucked away in the shelving. Dedue contemplated throwing it away. Normal meant employees didn’t give their bosses flowers and bosses certainly didn’t keep them around. 

In the end, Dedue left it. It would have been far too suspicious. 

Besides. It didn’t hurt to keep it. 

Cyril rushed through the door, spouting something about a bus being late, as if the world were ending. Caspar and Linhardt rolled in and just before opening so did Sylvain. The first order came up and service fell into action. 

In his element, it was easy for Dedue to set aside his fixation. It was odd, as if everything in the last 24 hours had been a dream and the world simply kept turning. His life had been altered, between Rhea and Ashe, Dedue felt as if he’d gone through a year and yet, nothing had changed. He was the same, still the head chef to HKF, still went through the same actions. 

The attempt to be normal was just as strange and detached. Dedue observed himself, how he acted around Caspar or Linhardt, and attempted to duplicate it with Ashe. It was not unlike being suddenly aware of his body and not knowing what to do with it. 

Ashe, for his part, kept his work professional. No more lingering for approval, no more long stares. At least not that Dedue saw. What Dedue did observe was a chef who was slower in the kitchen, stiffer. As if he too were attempting to figure out what normalcy was. 

And the single point where their eyes met after Dedue called out an order, where Ashe called back _’heard’_ , and a small smile flashed across his face. Dedue could hear Annette’s exact inflection of _’you’re obvious’_.

This was going to take some work. 

“Is the article out yet?” Cyril asked as they were closing. 

Mercedes, keys half in the lock to her office and purse slung over her shoulder, looked up to the porter. 

“Its been a day,” she said. “Give the woman some time to write.” 

Cyril ground his teeth and tightened his grip on the mop. 

“Did you sleep last night?” Mercedes asked. 

Cyril went back to furiously mopping. 

Just as they had come in, one by one the staff filed out. Sylvain shut off his bar lights, Caspar all but carried a half awake Linhardt away. Annette paused at the door. 

As it was when she had come in, Dedue and Ashe were the only two remaining. On opposite ends of the kitchen, their backs to each other, pretending to not notice the other was there. 

Annette cleared her throat. 

“Good night you two,” she dropped, heavy as a brick. 

“Good night!” Ashe said, with the same too much, too nervous pep of that morning. 

Another worried stare came from Annette and she left. Dedue and Ashe managed to have a moment of perfect silence before Dedue looked over his shoulder. 

“She knows,” he said. 

Ashe bowed his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and his lip pulled up in a sneer, trying to keep the information out. If he didn’t think it, it wasn’t real.

“I figured as much,” he said. 

“We are . . . bad at this,” Dedue mused. 

Ashe laughed at that and his head rocked forward. When he looked up again, his eyes were sparkling. And just like that, the bubble had returned. An enclosed space where it was just them again and Dedue didn’t have to pretend everything was normal. It was so much more than normal. 

“She won’t tell anyone,” Dedue said. “I trust her.” 

“So do I.” Ashe turned around and leaned against the counter. He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands in front of him, the sponge in his hand squeezed out onto the floor. 

“And she said she’d help. She gave some good advice,” Dedue said. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ashe said. 

Ashe’s smile was sweet and comfortable. The same smile from that morning, from the night before, from months ago when they were shoulder to shoulder in that very kitchen. 

“We should be okay,” Dedue said. “As long as no one else knows.” 

“Sylvain knows.” 

Dedue’s head jerked up suddenly. Ashe wore a wan smile and tucked his chin in, looking sheepish. 

“What?” Dedue asked. “How? When?” 

“He got it out of me,” Ashe said. “Or at least that I. . . my crush on you.” 

He shifted uncomfortably in place. He dropped the sponge on the counter and wrapped his arms around himself. He couldn’t quite look Dedue in the eye. 

“I was three drinks in,” he said. “We were talking about relationships and he was going on about the bartender being hot and it just came out that I had a crush. And then _who_ I had a crush on.” 

Ashe dug his hands into his elbows, the smile on his face strained with joy. 

“He’s been making fun of me for it.” 

“Why?” Dedue asked. 

Ashe managed to look Dedue in the eye, face pink. 

“Because I’m crazy about you.” 

Dedue suddenly became hyper aware of his arms. He shifted in place, fidgeting and trying to figure out where to put them. He attempted to fold them, to rest them on the counter, and settled with letting them hang at his sides. 

Again, his face prickled with heat. 

“Oh.” 

Ashe smiled a little wider. 

Awkwardness seeped from Dedue’s every pore. 

“Was that when you went out drinking with him?” he asked. He couldn’t help the question. The words spilled from his mouth in a verbal regurgitation that he was unused to. 

That smile turned a little sinister. 

“You were jealous,” Ashe said. 

He said it with pure knowledge, as the fact that it was. Dedue liked Ashe when he was filled with confidence like that, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it when it was aimed at him. 

Dedue tried to realign his arms again, lifting them and putting them back down. He looked away with a huff. Ashe laughed. 

“I’m not sorry,” he said. 

“Thats cruel of you,” Dedue said. 

“No, your reaction meant a lot to me.” 

Dedue’s brow furrowed in a silent question. 

“You being jealous meant my feelings were reciprocated,” Ashe said softly. “I knew for sure how you felt about me.” 

Ashe looked down at his feet with a soft secretive smile. He scuffed his toe along the floor. 

“It made me happy. At least a little.” 

Dedue knew what he wanted to do with his arms. He wanted to cross the room and wrap his arms around Ashe, pull him close. Every little thing he said made that prickling itch blossom over Dedue’s skin, knowing that he could. 

Just not in that place. 

“We should go,” Dedue said, his voice crackling, giving away his want. 

“Yeah I need to go home,” Ashe said with a nod. “I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

A deep sense of loss shot through Dedue suddenly and he felt petulantly stupid for it. Of course Ashe would have to go back to his own apartment and not come home with Dedue. He was still reeling from the new _new_ normal of Ashe in his life. Of Ashe’s life intersecting with his own. 

Dedue nodded in agreement and pulled at the buttons of his jacket. 

They walked out together silently. It had been sometime since their last late night ritual. Dedue locking the door, Ashe standing just a few steps down. The night was dark and there were still shimmers of color on the horizon, lights from the city. The parking lot was lit by flood lights attached to the back of the building, illuminating the lone car, parked where it had been the day before. 

Dedue walked Ashe to his car. 

“I feel weird asking,” Ashe said. “But can I come over?” 

“Yes,” Dedue said, before Ashe could finish. 

Ashe puffed out a laugh and looked down again, shifting in place. Just as awkward with his stance as Dedue had been with his arms. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Good.” 

Ashe tilted his chin to look up at Dedue and only then did Dedue realize how close he was, practically backing Ashe up against his car, but it seemed Ashe didn’t mind. He smiled, soft and happy and just for Dedue. His eyes shimmered as he looked between Dedue’s. 

Dedue’s fingers twitched and he curled his hands tighter in an effort to not reach out and pull Ashe close. The way Ashe’s hands were jammed in his pockets told Dedue he was in the same state. 

They were obvious. 

“So sometimes,” Ashe said slowly. “After working all day with fine cuisine, I just want to eat crap. Do you ever get that?” 

Dedue looked away, only a little ashamed. 

“I keep chicken cutlets and frozen vegetables on hand for that reason,” he said. 

Ashe’s nose crinkled in amusement and disapproval.

“. . . and tikka masala,” Dedue muttered. “Microwaveable burritos sometimes.” 

Ashe laughed again and scuffed forward, stepping just a little closer to Dedue. Dangerously close. At that distance, there was no hiding the nature of their relationship. 

“I go for the burritos too,” he said. “My favorite is mac and cheese though. From a box. The neon colored kind.” 

“Well,” Dedue said. 

Ashe’s next laugh was loud and clear as a bell, humor bouncing on each breath. Whatever feelings Dedue had for Ashe’s taste in junk food was vastly outweighed by the overwhelming bubble they shared. 

“Okay so, how about this,” Ashe said. “You heat up some tikka masala and we can spend the night cuddling on the couch?” 

“Hm.” Dedue looked side long. They were alone but talking like that still felt so open and exposed. Still. “I made breakfast. Bring your mac and cheese.”

Ashe bounced in place, radiating excitement and joy. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll meet you on your couch.” 

Dedue could hear his own heartbeat. 

Ashe pulled his hands out of his pockets, probably to open his car door, but he failed and gave into his compulsive want. His hand twitched out, brushing against Dedue’s. Dedue, for all his restraint, met Ashe’s finger and looped his own in it. Ashe’s finger curled, holding each other, the smallest connection between them, but it was the world to Dedue. 

With one last lingering smile, Ashe slid his finger free and got into his car. Dedue watched him drive off and watched how Ashe glanced back, smiled, and gave him a little wave. Dedue raised his arm in a wave back. He stood like that until Ashe’s car was no longer visible. 

Completely obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are just gonna be fluff town. Its all cute cuddling and adorable new relationship bullshit. If you came to this fic for some conflict, wait a couple of chapters. 
> 
> It'll come back :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	14. A Little Something For Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Its finally up!” Cyril shouted into the near empty kitchen. 
> 
> “Not so loud,” Mercedes said, patting the air. 
> 
> “Its finally up!” Cyril loud whispered and stalked into the kitchen phone first. 
> 
> On its screen was a plain white site covered in black sans serif text. At the top was a graciously beautiful photograph of a carefully selected bowl, designed for restaurant service and to be eaten with the eyes first. In it was a bright green soup, a cheerful shade that should not have belonged to food but rather some kind of flora. Dedue knew it was cold. He knew it because he had made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chp was not in the original outline but I thought I needed a beat of just pure fluff where nothing was bad and everything was cute. Just a quick little chapter. I wrote a quick 29 words in my outline. 
> 
> THIS MIGHT BE THE LONGEST CHAPTER IN THIS
> 
> I don't know what happened but just fffff I had a lot of fluff to get out I guess
> 
> Welcome to fluff town

There was an empty, body shaped dip in the bed. Dedue traced the edge of it, feeling the heat slowly sap away from the sheets. The clink of a belt buckle and the shift of jeans were church bells in the early morning quiet. He opened one eye and peered into the dark of his bedroom. 

“Hey,” Ashe said in a whisper. “Go back to sleep.” 

Dedue pushed himself up on his elbows. Through hazed over eyes, Ashe was nothing more than a pale blur, a ghost in the darkness. A sight Dedue had grown used to. 

“You’re leaving,” Dedue remarked, voice laden with sleep. 

“I need to get home,” Ashe said. “Make sure it didn’t burn down. Change my clothes. That sort of thing.” 

“You could always leave clothes here,” Dedue offered. 

Ashe pulled on his t-shirt from yesterday and his head popped out the other side, hair fluffing. His eyes were wide, whites visible in the dark, and staring. He stood frozen as a statue in the center of Dedue's room.

It had been an idea that had been formulating in Dedue's head for a little while and in that early hour he had no sense of mind to wait for a more delicate time. They had been doing this dance for weeks, almost a month. Sometimes Ashe would leave a change of clothes in his back seat, only to take a pretend commute to work. Some regrettable nights he went to his apartment, leaving Dedue to sleep alone. Then there were the mornings where he rushed out the door and Dedue only wanted him in bed. For at least five more minutes. 

It was selfish. He would admit he was selfish. He was selfish for Ashe.

Ashe laughed, shaking his head. 

"I would love that," he said, voice soft and gentle, as if still trying to not wake Dedue. "Let's talk about it when you're more awake." 

He crouched down to the side of Dedue’s bed and rested a soft kiss to his forehead, brushing back sleep rumpled hair. Not satisfied with just that, Dedue tilted his chin and went for a proper kiss, feeling Ashe’s lips curl into a smile against his own. 

“Besides,” he said softly against Dedue’s lips. “I’ve got a flower to feed.” 

Fondness at Ashe’s care for his flower twisted at Dedue’s heart. Damn him, knowing that would work. Dedue reached up and cupped Ashe’s face, feeling the cool of his cheek against his heated palm. 

“Very well,” he said. “At least let me make coffee for you.” 

Ashe’s eyes dulled and his mouth pulled into a pout. 

“I hate it when you bribe me with your french press,” he said. 

“You do not,” Dedue said. 

Ashe clicked his tongue in mock annoyance, but the smile on his face wouldn’t go away. He stood up and placed his hands on his hips. 

“Well if you’re going to spoil me, please make it quick,” he said. 

Dedue’s body complained as he pushed himself up out of bed and out from under the sheets. He pulled them off with a quick flip and swung his legs over the side. He stretched out his back, cracking the stiff sleep from between the joints. His hands strained above his head and his body quivered from the stretch. When he relaxed again he looked over his shoulder. 

Ashe still stood in place, eyes distinctly not on Dedue’s face but somewhere lower, his head cocked at a contemplative angle. He met Dedue’s gaze and quickly looked away, a small smile on his face. He glanced back one more time, completely unashamed. 

Dedue dressed for just enough dignity for his kitchen and followed Ashe downstairs. In what was becoming a familiar morning routine, Ashe slid up to his rightful spot at the kitchen island and Dedue pulled out his press. It was an overpriced affair that Dimitri had gifted Dedue for his birthday, but Dedue had never been much of a coffee drinker and didn’t have the heart to tell Dimitri. He thanked his boss that Ashe was an absolute connoisseur of the caffeinated mud. 

Dedue put coffee beans on the list of his specialty item order. 

The grinder whirred, the noise filling the kitchen. Ashe rested his head against folded hands and watched in silence as Dedue steeped and pressed. He poured the cream and spooned in one sugar, the way Ashe liked, and passed the mug over. 

Ashe nestled it in both hands and breathed in deep before taking his first sips. He sighed, as if the weight of the world slid free of his body, his neck going boneless and he wore a closed eyed content smile. 

“Is it possible to be in love with a coffee bean?” he sighed. 

Dedue leaned his forearms against the granite and watched Ashe delight in their morning ritual. After a long moment of reverie, he sighed and finally opened his eyes, giving Dedue his attention. 

“I was going to step outside,” Dedue said. “Did you want to say good morning?”

Ashe gave the same annoyed expression that never quite reached his eyes and leaned into his palm. 

“I’m going to be late for work,” he said. 

“You can always say no,” Dedue said. 

Ashe slid deeper into his palm, his smile distorted as his cheek pulled against his hand. 

“You know I can’t.” 

Ashe talked to flowers. He said good morning to them, asked them how they were doing, told them to get excited for a brand new day. He spoke in comforting tones, a little higher than normal, the way a proud parent would a child. Dedue had been surprised and amused when Ashe first stepped into his garden and spoke to a person who was not there. Ashe had chastised him for not talking to his plants sooner, insisting that he had stunted their growth. 

It only endeared Dedue more to the man. 

“Good morning, good morning,” Ashe practically sang as he walked among the flowers. He carefully watered each and every one of them, sprinkling them in a spray to mimic rain. “And how are we today this lovely morning? Thats very good to hear, I’m glad.” 

Dedue snorted at the imaginary conversation and Ashe shot him a scathing look. 

“Good morning,” Ashe said, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper. He knelt down besides the rose buds of the Duscur flower, careful to aim the water only on the dirt and miss the gentle stalks. “Your mother is very glad to hear you’re doing well and she misses you very much.” 

Dedue added his plant food to the cucumbers and kept his smile to himself. He loved to eavesdrop on those conversations best of all, where Ashe whispered sweet nothings to the flower that meant the most to him. 

Gardening took half the time with Ashe helping, but Dedue always wanted to linger. He wanted to watch as Ashe laid down new sod or helped prune the flowers or picked the vegetables when they were ripe. He liked when Ashe swiped a bit of dirt on his face or came in close to kiss Dedue in the sunshine. Behind a fence was the closest they could get to affection outside of Dedue’s home. 

When the gardening came to an inevitable end, Dedue walked Ashe to the door where they stood locked in each other’s arms. Ashe leaned in for another kiss, just one more, just another before he had to leave. 

“I need to go,” he said as he tilted his head in the other direction and leaned in for more. 

“Mmm,” Dedue hummed. He held Ashe tight, knowing that he’d step out of his hands eventually, but trying to prolong it for as long as possible. 

“I’m going to be late,” Ashe said, sing-song. “And my boss is going to be mad at me.” 

“I’ll tell him to back off,” Dedue promised against Ashe’s lips. 

Ashe’s laugh tickled against Dedue’s lips, turning into a soft moan as his tongue swiped against Dedue’s lower lip. He pulled back slowly with one or two lingering passes. 

“I have to go,” he murmured. Filled with finality and not leaving any more room for jokes. 

Dedue let Ashe step out of his arms, putting a cool space between them. His hand trailed down Dedue’s arm until their fingers limply interlocked, until he let their hands drop. 

“I’ll see you at work,” he said. 

“Drive safe,” Dedue said. 

“I will.” 

Ashe stood in Dedue’s open door way, the soft summer breeze rustling through his hair. He held still, as he always did, simply looking back into Dedue’s home, where Dedue waited for him. Maybe it was to commit it to memory or to have a last look before he left or the consistent fight against the will to stay. Or maybe it was the way words unsaid hung in the air. 

Ashe breathed in deep and stepped out of Dedue’s home, hopping down the stairs and letting the door shut behind him. 

Dedue stood alone in his kitchen with his hands crossed in front of his chest and stared down his closed door. He couldn’t fight the smile on his face nor did he want to. Not in the safety of his own home, not where no one could see. He allowed himself that moment, to let the ringing tingle of sensation overwhelm him. Of just how much he liked Ashe. 

After his personal self indulgence, he turned to start his own delayed routine. 

As was expected, Dedue had been coming into work later. He was still there before all his staff and in after Annette and Mercedes. Gone was his routine of prepping a Duscur infused dinner for his own, replaced with something far more important. Trying to maintain a steady facade, he went through the usual motions and slipped into work mode, where he wasn’t enamored with darling line cooks who talked to plants. 

“Good morning Chef,” Mercedes said from her office. 

“Good morning,” Dedue said and hoped he didn’t sound, as Annette had put it, chipper. 

Mercedes all but danced out of her office, her hands behind her back, a small, coy smile on her face. Dedue might have been bad at reading people, but he could read that. 

“What?” he asked, shrugging his coat onto his shoulders. 

“Do you want me to wait until everyone is here?” she asked. 

Dedue’s brow furrowed. 

“For what?” 

Pity touched Mercedes’ smile. 

“You don’t have social media do you?” she asked. 

Before Dedue could answer that, the back door swung open hard enough to slam against the wall. Enough to startle even Dedue.

“Its finally up!” Cyril shouted into the near empty kitchen. 

“Not so loud,” Mercedes said, patting the air. 

“Its finally up!” Cyril loud whispered and stalked into the kitchen phone first. 

On its screen was a plain white site covered in black sans serif text. At the top was a graciously beautiful photograph of a carefully selected bowl, designed for restaurant service and to be eaten with the eyes first. In it was a bright green soup, a cheerful shade that should not have belonged to food but rather some kind of flora. Dedue knew it was cold. He knew it because he had made it. 

“You ruined the surprise,” Mercedes huffed. 

“ _Nestled between the busy streets of–_ ”

“Ah!” Mercedes interrupted Cyril. “Wait until everyone is here.” 

Cyril’s mouth pressed into a fine line and he visibly shook. He dropped his hand stiff to his side and stomped over to begin his chores, walking in the wrong direction. He maintained his march into the dining room, as if that was where he intended to go all along. Dedue watched him go before going for his own phone. 

“Ah ah, don’t,” Mercedes said, resting a hand on his wrist. “If you haven't read it yet, I want you to be surprised.”

He could have plowed ahead, but he took his empty hand from his pocket. 

“Is it bad?” Dedue asked.

“You’ll see,” Mercedes said and took smile back into her office. 

If it was bad then there would have been a long serious conversation in that office behind closed doors, not smiles or rushing porters anxiously waiting for the exact minute their shift started to shout about the restaurant’s review finally going up.

It was surprisingly simple to set aside any anxieties he had about the review and return to work. He’d been doing it for weeks by that point. Rhea had taken her time with the review, leaving them on bated breath. When Mercedes pressured the critic with her usual polite but vaguely threatening insistence, Rhea revealed that she had sold the review to Dining Hall, a well renowned national publication. The fact that Rhea felt the need to sell the review meant it was either spectacular or disastrous. 

Dedue had become practiced at setting his thoughts aside. 

His chefs filed in one by one as the morning went on. Ingrid took her place and gave him a quick look. 

“Have you read it?” she asked. 

“No,” Dedue said. “Have you?” 

“Not yet,” she said in that tight clipped way that told Dedue she had her own feelings to set aside. "I wanted to wait." 

Caspar came in animatedly talking about something to do with lamps and mood lighting, to which Linhardt was only half paying attention to. Ashe came in last, right on time, not late at all, with shower water still damp in his hair. Dedue did not give him more than a second glance and left the good mornings to Ingrid. He couldn’t look long, not with the way his heart leapt up into his throat or the way joy played in his head. 

“Now!?” Cyril asked, poking his head into the door. 

“No!” Mercedes called back. “Wait for the waitstaff, this concerns them too.” 

Cyril huffed and marched back into the dining room, throwing his hands up into the air. 

“What was that about?” Ashe asked, stepping up to Ingrid’s side. 

He had become so careful not to socialize with Dedue, not to ask him non work related questions. It left Dedue lacking, wanting to answer those questions, wishing he had Ashe’s attention, but he stored that away for later. For when he had Ashe’s full attention. 

He was selfish.

“The review came out this morning,” Ingrid said simply. 

Dedue didn’t look. He could hear Ashe stall, but he knew not to look. If he looked they might meet eyes. If he looked there might have been a silent conversation between them. If he looked he might give them away. Dedue busied himself with prep and stepped away to the pantry. 

Shortly before service, Cyril ushered a herd of unwilling waiters, a half hungover Sylvain, and a confused Annette into the kitchen. 

“Now!?” he shouted. 

Like a disappointed mother, Mercedes sighed from her chair and rolled her eyes. 

“Yes Cyril you can read the article,” she said. 

Cyril pulled up his phone and cleared his throat. When he didn’t immediately get the attention he was expecting, he cleared his throat a little slower and a little louder. Caspar shut up and looked over his shoulder, only mildly curious. Cyril held up his phone with business like efficiency and no flare. 

“ _Nestled between the busy streets of Madrigal you can find an array of restaurants that will cater to your heart’s desire. Straddled between the bustling metropolis that is downtown Faerghus and quiet suburbs just beyond, Madrigal is a hub for culture, art and food. There is a selection between burger joints and asian cuisine, low brow pubs that only accept cash and the finest steak you can find on the market. With great boldness, enter the completely brazen HKF, a challenger to this ring of fine dining with no bells whistles or flares, just good food._ ” 

Caspar let out a whoop from the back and Ingrid promptly shushed him. 

“ _Converted from a long dead catering company, HKF promptly took over the understated grey cube that ate up the landscape, transforming the sleepy back road it occupies into a glowing beacon. The arrival up to the new restaurant was exciting, to turn off a busy road with many options to find the one radiating statement that drew me in like a moth to the flame. However lacking parking might have been._ ” 

Mercedes clicked her teeth. 

“We’re working on it,” she grumbled. 

“ _As tempting as it would have been to take advantage of the outdoor seating, I was given an indoor table where customers could get a glimpse of the kitchen. A way of bringing the inner workings to the whole experience. A theater of sorts._

_Like any high end restaurant worth its salt, HKF has invested in their interior design wisely. Dimly lit hanging lights cast a mood lighting and dark woods and pale greys give the whole restaurant an intimate affair, even when eating alone. And as always I was delighted to see the design cater to minimizing the noise pollution._ ”

To that, both Annette and Merecedes nodded. 

“Dimitri should be here,” Annette said. “He’d like that part.”

“I’m not stopping,” Cyril informed her. 

“Get to the good stuff already,” Caspar shouted. 

Cyril shot him a glare but continued on. 

“ _The attentiveness of the staff could not be praised. Even with a full house, there were no delays and each guest was treated as if they were the only ones there. All in all, the staff on the floor was terrific and I am always glad to see such high quality and care in a restaurant’s hospitality. Every detail of HKF had been catered too thus far and on that alone I cannot recommend more._

_I was greeted with a startling concoction of the house cocktail, a play on a Manhattan, that did not have the typical sugary flair such drinks have to offer. A potion of subtle flavors and if I had let him, I am sure the bartender would have provided me with more tricks such as that. I would surely go back for the bar alone._ ” 

“Woo,” Sylvain said. It came out half asleep and warbled. He was still wearing his sunglasses.

“ _As for the food,_ ” Cyril read with some finality. 

Dedue hadn’t realized how tightly his arms had been folded until they squeezed just a little tighter. He tried to let up, but his body had a mind of its own and stayed that way, threatening to cramp. 

“ _I was disappointed with a rather uninspired pâté as a first course._ ” 

A small groan rode over the kitchen. Dedue shifted to wrap a hand over his mouth, staring down the little porter like he was the one who had offended him. Cyril barely noticed. 

“ _Well constructed and every ingredient was housemade. It could have been the best tasting pâté I had ever had, but still. I come to a restaurant to be dazzled by their decor and drinks only to be greeted with grey._ ” 

“I’ll show her grey,” Ingrid muttered. 

Dedue waved her off without looking away or blinking. 

“ _Luckily._ ” Cyril waved one finger in the air. “ _That was the only true downside to the meal. It was followed up by a stunning cold soup made of cucumber and hit with just a kick of spice. I suspect it was not a staple on the menu, but it ought to be and I would expect it to sell out every night. A colorful feast for the eyes that I downed and could have had five more._ ” 

Dedue let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

“ _This was the quality of food I was there for._

_The enigmatic Chef Dedue Molinaro has been making a small name for himself since the opening of HKF._ ” 

Annette met Dedue’s eyes and slowly mouthed the word _’enigmatic.’_

“ _When a young chef is hired straight out of culinary school and manages to hold up a kitchen for well into a year, it is worth some noise. When I first heard rumblings of HKF, it was tied with a hypocritical sort of food. Inventive, but safe. Adventurous, but still accessible. This was a tone that painted the rest of my meal._ ” 

Dedue held his breath. He wasn’t ready to let any of it go. 

“ _Chef Molinaro proceeded to showcase fish with a standard branzino, well crafted but hardly anything to write home about. The steak medallions that followed however were inspired. I found myself wanting to tip my plate and drink that reduction sauce until it was clear._ ” 

Cyril stopped there to suck in a breath of air, a wide smile played on the corners of his mouth. A small snicker came from the back of the room. Dedue still held his breath. 

“ _I do find myself wishing that Chef Molinaro continued this parade of what he was capable of and presented me with a vegetarian dish. Consider this a challenge for next time Chef because I will be returning._ ” 

“Yes,” Ingrid said with a sigh and a soft pump of her arm. 

Dedue couldn’t help but think about the Duscur salad he had once made for Ashe. His eyes flicked to the side, but his line cook was well out of view. 

“ _Dessert was by far the best part of this meal, ending on a very creative compote, a reverse twin to the disappointing pâté. It was coupled with a simply sinful cup of coffee and I never thought I’d sing the praises of an after meal espresso, but here we are._ ” 

“Way to go new guy,” Caspar said and gave Ashe a clap on the back hard enough that Dedue could hear the wind knock out of him. 

“I have been here for months,” Ashe whined. 

“ _All in all, it is with praise, neither high nor damning, that I feel comfortable recommending HKF. Chef Molinaro seems to have a little bit of something for everyone and if you enjoy the occasional nice night out, go give HKF a visit. 7/10_ ” 

Cyril ended the piece and slowly looked up at Dedue. The room went silent. Dedue could feel all eyes on him. Dedue sighed heavily, deflating like a balloon, and felt his breath warm against his hand. His eyes were unfocused, looking vaguely to the floor as he replayed the review in his head. He nodded solemnly. 

“Back to work,” he said. 

The tension in the room broke and conversation started up again. The waitstaff filed from the room and the sound of pots coming out onto heated stoves clanged behind Dedue. 

“Why she gotta drag the pâté?” Sylvain said, still standing limp by the door. “I like the pâté.” 

“Come on,” Annette said, dragging the bartender behind her. 

Dedue still stood in his rightful place like a statue, still staring at that vague direction towards the ground. It wasn’t a bad review, perse, but Dedue had never heard himself described like that. In past reviews, it had always been about the restaurant itself, not him. This felt like a direct attack and Dedue couldn’t help feeling a little shaken. 

Average. She had said adventurous, but it read as middle of the road. A step up from boring and forgettable. Dedue didn’t stand out as a person, but he did have a certain pride in his food. He didn’t realize just how deep it ran until it was hit like that. It wasn’t like he didn’t try with that meal but. . . 

He could have done better. 

_not your best_

Dedue turned and looked over his shoulder. Ashe quickly looked away. A familiar dance of theirs. 

They hadn’t talked about the _argument_. Dedue’s _cowardice_. Dedue hadn’t been waiting for that particular conversation to pick back up again and he wondered, briefly, if this would revive it. 

Dedue didn’t want that. He wanted lazy kisses in bed and Ashe falling in love with his coffee. He wanted lingering glances and secret smiles and to set aside anything heavy, possibly forgotten. 

Dedue sighed and pushed his feelings aside. The first customers were about to come in. 

Service was strenuous, tighter. Dedue looked at every meal with scrutiny before it went out, replaying the ingredients, trying to pick apart what was safe and what was inventive. What little bit of something was for everyone. He could feel his shoulders tighten and his jaw clench. He was little quieter with his orders to the point where Linhardt had to repeatedly ask him for a repeat. 

He didn’t really breathe until Ingrid tapped him on the shoulder. She held out a salad that he didn’t ask for. 

“Hey,” she said. “Take a dinner break. I’ll take the pass.” 

Dedue eyed the plate, then his sous chef, before gratefully taking it with a quiet _’thank you.’_ He took the plate outside and sat down on the loading dock, dangling his legs over the side. He picked at the lightly dressed lettuce and walnuts, more or less moving them around the plate without eating. Around the corner, he could hear the diners at the outdoor seating area, a dull roar of indistinguishable conversation. One woman with a very distinct laugh pealed through the night. He stared over the tightly packed parking lot and the road just beyond, watching the quiet amount of traffic that meandered by. Taking in details without judgement to clear his mind. 

He managed to take a bite.

The back door squealed as it opened just a crack and Ashe snuck out carrying a trash bag. He scuttled to the dumpster and threw the bag out, not looking at Dedue, working as a complete professional. It wasn’t until the door closed and the dumpster slammed shut that Ashe turned to face him. 

Dedue waited for an _I told you so._

Instead he got a small smile and a smug stance from his boyfriend. The same expression he wore when he had a particularly devious idea. 

“Hey there Mr Enigmatic,” he said. 

Dedue sighed with a laugh under it and a smile grew across his face. He jabbed his salad. 

“Don’t,” he said. 

“The mysterious and elusive Chef Molinaro,” Ashe said, crossing the concrete and wriggling his fingers in the air. 

“Where’s Cyril?” Dedue asked. “Isn’t this his job?” 

“Bathroom,” Ashe said. He was too close, sliding dangerously between Dedue’s legs. He took the plate from his hands and set it aside. “He’s human after all.” 

Ashe's hands ran slowly up and down Dedue’s thighs, scanning Dedue’s body until he met his eyes. Dedue’s heart pounded, half out of terror, half excitement, but he held still, waiting for whatever Ashe did next. 

“A little bit of something for everyone, huh?” he said. 

Dedue snorted. Ashe went up on his toes, leaning in until Dedue could feel the heat on his lips. 

“A lot of bit for me,” he whispered. 

Ashe’s lips were soft. With the scant difference between them, he could just barely meet Dedue’s. And if Dedue really wanted that kiss, he would have to lean down to meet him. 

Was there even a choice?

“Someone might see,” Dedue said. 

“Yeah,” Ashe said and leaned in again. 

Dedue slipped his hand alongside Ashe’s face, his fingers sliding between fine strands of hair, pulling them free of their clips. He could smell Ashe’s shampoo, plain and clean, and vastly different from when Ashe used his own. He smelled like the kitchen, liked the beginning stages before Dedue pulled him to the bed, on top of him on the couch, closer in his kitchen. Ashe held onto Dedue’s arm, sliding up to loop over his shoulder. The hand on Dedue’s thigh dug in and twisted to feel the girth of it. Dedue scooched forward, just a little, just to be a little closer. 

The back door slammed open. 

Dedue and Ashe pulled apart quickly, sucking in a tight breath between them. Annette stood backlit in the doorway, eyes wide and furious. They all froze, pinned under her rage, until she breathed in deep and slow. 

“No he’s not out here,” she called back before turning back inside, swiftly closing the door behind her. 

The door slammed shut. Ashe and Dedue still remained frozen in each other’s arms. It wasn’t until Ashe started giggling that the moment broke. He stepped back, slipping free of Dedue’s hold. 

“She’s going to murder us,” he said. 

“We really shouldn’t be kissing at work,” Dedue said. 

Ashe smiled secretly up at Dedue, his face flush. 

“Yeah, but I wanted to congratulate you,” he said. 

“You thought it was good?” Dedue asked. 

Ashe walked backwards, hands behind his back. He curled his lips in, tasting what Dedue left behind. 

“She wanted to drink your reduction sauce like a milkshake,” he said. “And who could blame her?” 

Dedue snorted and picked up his salad. 

“Go back to work,” he said. Then quickly, “I’ll see you tonight?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Ashe said and ran up the stairs. 

He opened the door and rushed back inside to a chorus of _’where were you?’_

“Sorry sorry I had to go to my car.” 

Dedue quickly ate his salad in an effort to get back to work, in an effort to get through service, in an effort to get back home. 

Service crawled due to his anticipation. His mind was elsewhere, thinking of his home and making up the ‘meal’ for that evening. He was focused on the ingredients in his fridge and almost missed a misstep from Linhardt. He tried to fight a smile on his face, but he couldn’t help it. The review had knocked him down a peg, but Ashe had pushed him up two. 

Quietly, secretly, a thought settled in his mind that this was something he never wanted to let go of. 

Towards the end of the evening, when the rush had passed and service was slower, Annette came in through the door to pick up a meal as she always did. She reached through the pass and gave Dedue a smart smack on the arm. He glared at her in surprise, but she was already moving on to jab an angry finger in the air, pointing accusatorily at Dedue’s romantic co-conspirator. 

Dedue looked over his shoulder. Ashe had wide eyes and a red face that might have been misconstrued as exertion from work and standing over a hot stove. Ingrid looked over and Annette’s expression turned into a sweet smile. She picked up the plates, gave Dedue one last glare, and marched back out into the dining room. 

The last dregs of service sludged by. Mercedes called Dedue into her office to talk to Dimitri on the phone.

“7 out of 10, thats passing!” he had said, but Dedue could hear the warble in his voice, just as much of a perfectionist as Dedue was. 

Ashe left shortly after Caspar and Linhardt, but before Cyril and Ingrid. When Dedue was alone in the kitchen, Annette poked her head in to give him one last glare. 

“What did I say?” she hissed. 

“We slipped,” Dedue said. 

She pointed threateningly at him one last time before leaving. 

Dedue didn’t linger. 

He practically power walked home, eager to get back to his new haven. Where he didn’t have to pretend. Where he made food from Duscur and was in love with Ashe. 

Ashe was parked at his house, leaning against his car, by the time Dedue made it home. He didn’t say hello, not a word, only pulled Dedue close to give him a brief kiss. Dedue’s flowers got more conversation than him. 

Ashe beelined for the stairs the second he was in the house. 

“I’m getting the nice one,” he called out. 

“Which one is this nice one?” Dedue asked. 

He didn’t get an answer and smiled at his empty home, listening to his boyfriend rustle through his closet. Dedue pulled out his prepared ingredients, mixing spices into flavorless yogurt. He didn’t turn when he heard Ashe come clamoring down the stairs.

“The one with the paisleys,” Ashe said. 

“Ah,” Dedue said. “That one.” 

The skin on his back prickled as he felt Ashe near, coming close to touch him. A hug from behind that Dedue was growing far too familiar with. Dedue shrugged Ashe away before he could get his hands on him. 

“No peeking,” Dedue ordered. 

Ashe scoffed. 

“Yes chef,” he said with a certain snotty tone. Like a brat. 

Dedue stopped at that and looked over his shoulder. Ashe was seated at the island, wriggling in place, and tying Dedue’s paisley tie around his eyes. The sight of his trussed up boyfriend, with his smug smile on his face, waiting on Dedue, sparked Dedue’s imagination. Fantasies did not die down, did not go away. They only flared and demanded Dedue make them reality. 

He leaned across the kitchen to line his mouth with Ashe’s ear. 

“Careful,” he rumbled. “You’ll give me ideas”

A visible shiver ran over Ashe and he swelled up in anticipation. He bit his lip and his shoulders hiked high. 

“Later,” he whispered. 

Dedue went back to his platter and presented it in front of his blindfolded boyfriend. An array of small glass prep bowls filled with yogurt that Dedue had flavored himself. They were lightly colored to reflect the more visual spices, but that was what the blindfold was for. 

Ashe boasted his palette and Dedue itched to put it to the test. 

He took a spoonful of the first flavor and brought it to Ashe’s lips. He tasted it and laughed. 

“You’re trying to blow out my palette,” he laughed. “Turmeric.” 

“I’m doing no such thing,” Dedue said. “And that's correct. Next one.” 

He watched carefully the way the spoon disappeared past Ashe’s lips, fascinated with how clean it was as it pulled past their loose seal, the way his tongue licked at the corner of his mouth. Ashe crinkled his nose. 

“Cilantro,” he said. 

“Yes,” Dedue said and the huskiness in his voice betrayed him. 

“I just can’t get behind cilantro,” Ashe complained. “You know that.” 

Dedue gave him the next one and a little yogurt caught on Ashe’s lower lip. He smacked his tongue a few times, his brow pressed together, and he cocked his head in thought. 

“Is that peach?” he asked. “Did you distill peach?” 

But Dedue was far too distracted. He ran his thumb over Ashe’s lip, swiping away the yogurt. The small smile dissipated from Ashe’s face and his mouth hung open, waiting and wanting. Dedue cupped his chin and leaned in to meet those lips. He could taste the peach. 

“Dedue,” Ashe guessed, barely a whisper. 

Dedue wrapped his arms around Ashe and pushed him against the chair. Ashe’s arms wound around Dedue’s neck, pulling him closer. 

The yogurt went forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My phone wanted to autocorrect flavorless to Flavortown pffftfftfftftf


	15. When You Were Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What were you like?” Ashe asked, rasping. 
> 
> Dedue looked to his boyfriend in the dark. He didn’t need to question it. 
> 
> “As a kid,” Ashe said. “What were you like?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a heavy one guys. This chapter gets into some pretty heavy topics. Feel free to skip it but just know theres a content warning on this. 
> 
> Content Warnings:   
> Talk of war zone damage  
> Implied PTSD   
> Talk of homelessness

Sweat dripped from Dedue’s forehead, leaving spattered stains on his sheets. He puffed out a breath, his head rocking forward, and his whole body deflating. Ashe’s hand was careful to unwrap from around Dedue’s cock, but still it gave Dedue small jolts of still riding pleasure. He was draped across Dedue’s back, still buried inside him. His cheek was pressed against Dedue’s skin and he turned his head slowly to leave careful kisses down his spine. Dedue sighed, his body relaxing under the drag of Ashe’s lips. Ashe pulled out and Dedue fell to the bed. The mess he had made went unheeded. 

Ashe flopped next to him. 

Dedue’s eyes flitted to his clock. The night had turned from yesterday to tomorrow during their love making. Their near identical schedules always left them exhausted, but the lust of their still fresh relationship moved them forward. Dedue smiled, knowing that Ashe would be sleeping in, just a little. 

Ashe lay sideways, his hair fanned out across the extra pillow. Quietly examining Dedue. 

Dedue wondered what he was thinking. What he thought. His mind was constantly churning, gears working furiously behind gentle pale eyes. The more time went on, the more of a mystery he became. Something that skimmed just below the surface that Dedue had yet to touch. 

Ashe rested a hand on Dedue’s cheek. He stroked down his face, draggin the backs of his fingers. Dedue closed his eyes, tilted his head, and kissed Ashe’s palm. 

“What were you like?” Ashe asked, rasping. 

Dedue looked to his boyfriend in the dark. He didn’t need to question it. 

“As a kid,” Ashe said. “What were you like?” 

Dedue’s brow furrowed. He settled further into his pillow, getting comfortable. Ashe laughed, once and quiet. 

“I just mean. . . I can’t picture you ever being small,” Ashe said. “I want to know.” 

With a sigh, Dedue rolled onto his side to better look at Ashe. He examined Ashe’s face as Ashe had done him. It had been some time since he thought about it. Childhood. Partly because it was too painful, but mostly because it was behind him. Dedue never quite liked to dwell on the past because in the end it just opened wounds. 

He was already bare before Ashe. 

“I was a terror,” he said. 

Ashe snorted. 

“Really?” he asked. 

“I was.” Dedue nodded. “My grandmother would tell me almost daily what a terror I was. Coming home covered in mud, disrupting my teachers in class, not listening to her when she called.” 

“She sounds strict,” Ashe said. 

Dedue shrugged slightly, the sheets shifting with the movement. 

“Possibly,” he said. “But that doesn’t make my terrorhood any less true.” 

Dedue looked at Ashe but did not see him. Like a painful dredge clawing up through his skin, he could just remember those times like a long forgotten dream. Trying to out run the damp heat of a threatening storm between classes. The sharp clear blue of water. Dirt under and in his shoes. The etched lines of his grandmother’s face, where her eyes crinkled, where her forehead wrinkled, the down turn of her lips as she shouted his full name, the rasping laugh, all of them details that just could not make up to the blurry whole. 

“I know I did well when I came home and there would be tashens waiting for me,” he said. 

Ashe perked up in the way he did whenever Dedue talked about Duscur food. 

“They’re these. . .” Dedue held up his hands, placing his fingers and thumbs together. “Triangle shaped cookies. A light pastry, not layered like puff pastry, but similar. Fried and covered in sugar. Terribly bad for you.” 

Ashe smiled wide and it warmed Dedue, only combining one ache in his chest with a new one. A caduceus of overwhelming sting both wanted and unwanted. He shifted, tucking his arm under his pillow. 

“Did you help her cook?” he asked. 

“No,” Dedue said, shaking his head. “She would never let me in her kitchen. Something about small hands and big knives not being a good combination.” 

Ashe laughed. 

“My parents did though.” His voice cracked as it dropped. 

The memory of his home coming at him like a wrecking ball. The small living quarters with his parents and his sister and his grandmother. The rush of his parents as they talked over one another, his father saying something quiet and cutting to deserve a swift smack from his mother. They had towered over him like trees. A two second memory that stood out clearer than anything in Dedue’s mind.

“My mother taught me how to hold a knife,” he said. “And my father taught me how to break down a chicken. And I taught myself that the oven was hot.” 

Ashe laughed again, his body curling up around himself, enraptured. 

“Sometimes,” he said, words burbling up from him. “My grandmother would let me roll balls of dough to help or mix dry ingredients on the floor.” 

Locked away feeling and memories pried open and connections clicked into place. 

“I think she’s the reason why I’m doing this in the first place,” he said quietly. 

As it did in his quietest moments, his mind shifted. Coalescing to the most major and memorable event of his life. Stuck forever in his brain with crystalline clarity, a vision so real that was forever etched behind his eyes, rang in his ears, tremored in the very core of his bones. Laying in bed throughout culinary school, weighed down with stress, his nightmare visions replayed it on loop. It had been months since it last twisted its way deeper in his brain. 

Ashe, empathetic and sincere, read Dedue like a book. His smile faded slowly to probably match the expression Dedue wore.

“When the. . .” Dedue choked. He licked his lips. He tried again. “When the bombs. . . first dropped. I was. I wasn’t home. I was walking home from class. I heard it first and I . . .” 

The whistle had been faint at first. Before Dedue could look up, it was over. It had happened all so fast. The ground had shook. His vision went white. He remembered falling but couldn’t remember hitting the ground. There had been so many scratches and his uniform had torn. He remembered his first worry that his grandmother would be cross with him. 

“They hit and I wasn’t home,” Dedue said again. “And I saw. . . everything was destroyed. My whole town was . . . not there anymore.”

His bedroom was gone. Where he lay dropped out and he floated in space. But he could focus on Ashe, on the concern. 

A hand slipped over his and it became his world. 

“My school was gone, the corner store where we got our groceries were gone, the park where I played was gone.” 

The hand around his curled. Not too tight, simply holding him in place, tethered to that spot. 

“And I got. . .” He couldn’t speak again and bowed his head. “I got home and it was. . . it wasn’t there.” 

By the time Dedue ran up the dirt road to his home, the familiar shape that had cut the horizon was gone. A formless mass in raised dust all collapsed upon one another. His house, his neighbors house, all rubble heaped upon one another. Gone were homes, gone was the kitchen, gone was the warmth and the laughter and the scolding and the quiet smacks on the shoulder and his sister and his mother and his father and his grandmother. 

All gone. 

“They were. . . my whole family was there when the. . . when my home was hit.” Dedue’s voice warbled in a way he hadn’t heard before. Words slipping free from his lips that had been trapped in his mind. “And when I got home they. . . it wasn’t there.” 

His arm tensed and the hand wrapped around his was dragged closer to his face. When he talked his lips brushed against fingers. 

“I tried to find them,” he said. “I tried to get them out. I climbed up and tried to . . . dig them. . .” 

Now the hand around his tightened. 

“Thats when the second. . . strike.” 

He hated that word. So clinical, so devoid of feeling. It didn’t capture the cacophony, the way his world was upturned again. The orange and red and white and dirt and dust. The way his skull cracked as it hit crumpled mortar. 

“Hit. And I was trapped. Under a slab. And I couldn’t. . .” 

Dedue had never been one to cry. Even laying in what remained of his destroyed home, trapped above where his family may have been laying, he did not scream out. Even laying in that bed, holding fast to Ashe’s hand, he still did not cry. 

He took in a shaking breath that threatened to break that streak. 

“Dimitri got me out,” he said. “He was in the attack. His parents were. . .” 

It was cruel, but talking about someone else removed the horror of it all. A wall that Dedue could take a step back from. 

“They were.” He cleared his throat. “They were at assembly and no one had warned them. Dimitri was away with his convoy and thrown from his car but he still wanted to help.” 

Ashe let out a soft sigh, feeling that step back and the flow of Dedue’s words steady. As if he had been braced and waiting. 

“He pulled the slab off me and took my hand and dragged me out of there,” Dedue said. “And he got me on a helicopter out of there. He . . . held my hand. The whole way. He wouldn't let go. I. . . I owe him everything.” 

“I know what you mean,” Ashe said. 

He sounded so small and far away, but when Dedue looked up he was so close. He was there and warm and filled Dedue’s vision. The disparate pain of his past warmed by the proximity of his future. Not negated, not erased, but layered on top of one another. How things he had never told anyone before came pouring out so easily because it was Ashe. Because he asked. Because Dedue wanted him to know. 

Dedue pulled his hand close enough to kiss his knuckles. 

“What about you?” he asked. 

“Huh?” Ashe asked. 

“What were you like? When you were young.” 

Dedue wanted to know. 

The idea of small Ashe happily living in a cul-de-sac somewhere with a loving family delighted Dedue, eased his mind. Having that happy warm kitchen with a grandmother of his own that may have let him roll dough. He wouldn’t be a terror, nothing but a delight, Dedue was sure of it. What kind of things did he get into? Did he have siblings? What did he celebrate, mourn, loss? 

Dedue wanted to know. 

Ashe’s face fell slowly. The tension between his brow eased up. His mouth slowly went slack. He went from his usual expressive self to a neutral mask. 

Quiet eased between them but it wasn’t heavy. Dedue still swirled, still felt light and floating away. He ran his thumb over Ashe’s hands, holding them tied together so that Ashe wouldn’t float away either. 

“I was a thief,” Ashe finally said. 

Of all the things Dedue had expected, it hadn’t been that. His thumb went still and his brow furrowed in confusion.

Ashe held his breath, holding perfectly still, waiting on Dedue’s reaction. He took in a deep breath. 

“Professionally,” he said. “For a living. For money.” 

The grip around Dedue’s hand was finally tight. If he kept it up, he would eventually cut off circulation. Dedue didn’t dare move him, letting Ashe do as he will. 

“My parents died. When I was young,” he said, the words sounding just as difficult for Ashe as it had been for Dedue. “Car crash. And me and my brother and sister were put into the system.” 

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what someone as caring and as kind as Ashe deserved. 

“Cinder almost got adopted and we would have been split up,” he said. “And so I . . . ran away with them.” 

Ashe tried to laugh again. That nervous tick and a shaking pull of a smile. It almost looked like something Dedue had seen before, but far too removed from the usual bubbling joy. 

“We squatted. We moved around. I kept to abandoned buildings or stalled construction sites. I didn’t want to go to shelters or camps because I was worried they might send us back into foster care. But!” 

He laughed again. Joy returned for a split second.

“But I had a space heater and a hot plate and a rechargeable battery so I could feed Cinder and El and keep them warm.” 

Ashe was starting to shake. Dedue merely held his hand, rubbed the back of it, eased him silently from the side. 

“But they had to go to school.” Ashe’s voice shook. He said the words so stern and glared with finality at a random corner. “I couldn’t let them not go to school. They needed clothes, they needed to be clean, they needed to be fed, and they needed to go to school. And for that we needed money. So I. . . stole. . . things.” 

His smile shook. His hand shook. His eyes bore right into Dedue. 

Dedue wanted to pull him close and protect him from every injustice he ever had to encounter, but he held still. Instead, he simply nodded, letting Ashe know he was safe there. 

“I would hock them,” he continued. “But I also got hired for jobs. You see, I was really small and I could get into places easily. And I didn’t get caught. That was a commodity.” 

He shrugged with one shoulder, laughter still bubbling nervously under his breath. His eyes shone in the dark, a wet film coated over them. 

Ashe didn’t have the same issues with tears that Dedue had. 

“I was a thief,” he said and his voice cracked into a whisper. He tried to say it so casual, like it was something someone would say everyday, but it failed. 

They lay next to each other, staring one another down. Ashe was breathing hard enough to make his chest fall and rise, as if he had just sprinted up the block and back again. He cleared his throat and shifted, looking away from Dedue and Dedue hoped it wasn’t out of some sense of shame. 

“I had wanted to steal from a restaurant,” he said. “I had never stolen from a restaurant before and thought that surely there had to be some overpriced things I could sell. I broke in and there was honestly nothing that I could carry out of there seemed of value. So I cracked the safe.” 

The pressure let up on the grip on Dedue’s hand. The tension slunk from Ashe’s shoulders. He sighed. 

“There was just recipes,” he said. “It was the weirdest thing. I mean who locked up recipes. But I ended up just sitting there and reading them. It was like finding this ancient language and I wanted to know what they said and what they turned in to. But. I must have tripped a silent alarm because well. . . Lonato caught me.” 

Ashe snuggled into his pillow and the smile seemed genuine now. Dedue let out a breath and delighted in the familiar sight of Ashe’s face pressing up against itself, eye crinkled with fondness for Dedue. 

“I thought that was it, it was all over,” he said. “But he was more. . . amused than anything. He asked me to come back tomorrow night, but to leave the recipes behind. So I did. I cleaned his kitchen for a while, he slipped me a 20 every day, and it worked out for both of us. After a while, he began to teach me how to cook. And then I told him about my siblings. Where we lived.”

Ashe snuggled closer, leaning in to Dedue’s warmth. 

“The man had endless altruism,” he said softly. “He offered us up a place to stay in his home.”

Ashe laughed again and again and shook his head incredulously. His eyes meet Dedue's again, holding them and meeting them. 

"I owe him everything."

Dedue's grip pulsed around Ashe's hand. Not to comfort but a reaction, a twitch of his fingers at their bond. 

"But he said," Ashe said. "As long as I stayed there I would do as he told. In the end he just used me for cheap labor and taught me how to cook. But I had a roof over my head and my siblings went to school and oh! And a new brother! I had Christophe.” 

Ashe practically sat up, his eyes lighting up. 

“He would come home drunk from college and pull me out of bed and make me the best grilled cheese sandwiches,” he said quickly. “And he always said that Lonato was too stuffy and formal and he would try to ‘break’ me of all the habits I picked up, it drove Lonato up a wall. He was also the one who built up my palette. He made me try weird stuff, do blind tastings. He was so talented and funny and magnificent. You would have liked him.” 

Dedue knew the next part. Ashe kept the momentum, the excitement of his brother as long as he could. When he gave in, he looked down at his hands and played with his cuticles. 

“It was a pretty hard blow when he died,” he said. “On all of us. But especially Lonato. He really . . . changed after that.” 

Ashe settled back down on the bed again. 

“I think in the end he . . . I think he died of a broken heart,” he said. “And when he was gone we were. . . alone. Again.” 

The heartbreak on Ashe’s face had Dedue fighting the urge to snatch him, to pull him close, to pin him down and hold him. He lost and cupped Ashe’s face. His hand almost encapsulated Ashe’s cheek. Ashe’s eyes flicked up to Dedue and he leaned into his palm. 

“I think he was grooming me to take over Gaspard’s,” he said. “It was left to me. But we had to liquidate it. I wasn’t ready to run a restaurant and I don’t think he wanted a stranger to run it. And we sold the house and. . . it felt wrong to pick apart his life like that.” 

Ashe put a hand over Dedue’s and stroked it gently. He nodded solemnly.

“School first,” he said. “Cinder and El had to go to college. Most of the money went to that and the rest. . .” 

His eyes drifted off to the side, falling into a quiet contemplation. The same silence settled over them. There was a freer quality to it, a space where Dedue could breathe easier. Where he could look at Ashe not with pity just as Ashe gave him the same courtesy. Dedue ran his thumb over Ashe’s cheek and Ashe finally looked up. _Really_ looked at Dedue. 

“When I was homeless,” he said. “Cinder and El came first. They ate first. And if there wasn’t food left then I didn’t eat.” 

The gravity of Ashe’s voice, the way he stared unblinking directly into Dedue’s eyes, commanded Dedue’s already undivided attention. 

“Food, for me,” he said. “Was to survive. It wasn’t to taste good and in those years when we were on the street I didn’t learn to care. And with Lonato, I was _told_ what tasted good. I knew high end food and expensive ingredients were _good_ but. . . .” 

Ashe shifted closer, sliding across the bed into Dedue’s arms, until Dedue could hold him. Dedue didn’t have to pull him close, he came of his own accord. Ashe pressed his forehead to Dedue’s. 

“Your food,” he said. "The things you make. I _knew_ they were good. From the first bite. And I don’t know how to tell you how much that means to me.” 

Dedue couldn’t hold back any longer. He whined and leaned in to kiss the man he had shared his deepest thoughts to, had assorbed them in kind. He leaned in to kiss Ashe. 

Ashe held fast and tight to Dedue’s arms, pressing himself flush against his body. He inhaled deep and desperate. Dedue rolled them over, pushed Ashe on to his back and hovered over him. Wide eyed and soft under Dedue’s shadow and in the light of the midnight moon. 

“I wanted to tell you all that,” Ashe whispered. “Because I don’t think this is casual. I think this is something serious. I wanted to tell you. Because you’re important to me.” 

With every last fiber of his being Dedue agreed. It swelled up in him, this connection with another person he did not think he could have. How deep it went, how Ashe had slid under his skin and become as comfortable and familiar as his own reflection. How in that moment there was no where else he wanted to be and no one else he wanted to be with. 

How it had been like that for some time. 

Dedue didn’t have the finesse of words Ashe did. Instead, he simply nodded, and kissed his boyfriend again. 

Held in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been sitting in my head for a while, word for word, fully written, and it was just a matter of transcribing it. It wasn't tough for me to write, but at the same was? Ya know? Anyways, we should get back to our regularly scheduled plot next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks y'all! 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	16. When He Woke Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornings had become a brand new routine. After their brief time of waking up together, coming home to one another, spending the night, they had found the steps that came the most naturally. Dedue made coffee for Ashe every morning and Ashe rarely ran out the door any longer. The nights Ashe spent at his apartment became fewer and fewer. He still insisted on going home to check on his window boxes, to have some private time to himself, but for the most part. 
> 
> Ashe was there when Dedue went to sleep. Ashe was there when Dedue woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay *rubs hands together* time to get into the plot in the last bit of this story. We're gonna have a couple of more sad chapters coming up, but I'm promising a happy ending, so stay with me here. 
> 
> Bon appetit

“Shhh-sugar.” 

Ashe often swore by replacing curse words with something far more innocuous. Occasionally one genuine swear would fall out when he was truly riled up, so Dedue knew that this latest curse wasn’t too bad. 

“What is it?” he asked, tying his shoes. 

Ashe leaned out from the bathroom with a glare specifically tailored for Dedue, lathered up toothpaste clung at the corners of his lips. He yanked down the corner of his collar revealing a bruise at the crook of his neck, roughly the shape and size of Dedue’s mouth. He pulled taut on his collar again to make his point. 

Dedue looked from the bruise to Ashe’s face. He no longer had it in him to feel ashamed, more proud than anything at the mark. 

“Wear a high collar,” he said. 

Ashe balked. 

“In a kitchen!?” Ashe squawked. 

Dedue tightened his laces and tried not to smile. 

“Next time I’ll aim lower,” he said. 

Ashe sported a dusting of red and he stood up straighter, letting go of his collar. The shirt hung loose, abused from the tug. 

“You’re insufferable,” he said, marching back into the bathroom. 

Dedue snorted and went for his second shoe. 

Mornings had become a brand new routine. After their brief time of waking up together, coming home to one another, spending the night, they had found the steps that came the most naturally. Dedue made coffee for Ashe every morning and Ashe rarely ran out the door any longer. The nights Ashe spent at his apartment became fewer and fewer. He still insisted on going home to check on his window boxes, to have some private time to himself, but for the most part. 

Ashe was there when Dedue went to sleep. Ashe was there when Dedue woke up. 

He passed the mug into Ashe’s waiting hands. 

Before a thank you could pass Ashe’s lips, his phone rang. Ashe took one look at the caller ID and suddenly all priorities shifted. The coffee went forgotten and Ashe twisted in his chair, eyes distant. 

“Hey,” he said and Dedue could hear the concern in his voice. 

The voice on the other end was intelligible, but Dedue could hear the high pitched wail of despair. 

“Slow down,” Ashe said. “El, slow down. Whats wrong?” 

Another pause, waiting on an answer Dedue could not hear. 

“How?” Ashe asked. 

A moment of still quiet before Ashe’s eyes went wide. He sat up a little straighter, gripping the back of the chair. 

“You did what?” he asked incredulously. 

Dedue decided it might be best if he busied himself on the other side of the kitchen. He turned on the kitchen sink to wash dishes that were already clean.

“Okay,” Ashe said, trying to take a breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Okay. Are you going to try to get it out of there?” 

Curiosity got the better of Dedue and he looked over his shoulder. 

“Alright,” Ashe said. “Well I can’t help you from here. . . El! Elliot! El calm down. You need to be calm. Its going to be okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.” 

Ashe rolled his eyes and his head, holding back a groan. 

“They are not going to kick you out, I’ll make sure of that,” he said. “Okay, heres what you’re going to do. Go to Gilbert, he can help you out.” 

The reply to that was loud enough that Dedue could hear the volume from the other end, even though he could not make out the words. He turned up the rush of water another notch. 

“Yes he can!” Ashe insisted. “He’s good people. And he won’t snitch. Just. . . don’t go to Hanneman, he’ll definitely make it a _thing_. And do _not_ go to Manuela. Go find Gilbert, he’ll know what to do.” 

Ashe slumped in his seat, the tension finally ebbing away. He heaved a soft sigh, staring out the window to Dedue’s garden. 

“Take a deep breath,” he said. “Breathe in. . . . and now out. . . okay again. . . and out. Is that a little better?” 

He smiled at the response, his eyes going soft. 

“Find Gilbert, call me back when you get it out, okay?” Ashe nodded at no one. “Okay. I love you. Bye.” 

He hung up the phone, his smile disappearing, staring at the call information with blank eyes. 

Dedue shut off the water. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. 

Ashe breathed in sharply, looking up at Dedue as if he didn’t realize he was there. He blinked blearily. 

“Oh uh. . . yeah. . . well no not really but it will be,” he said. He picked up the coffee and took a tentative sip, wincing when it was too hot. “Senior prank.” 

Dedue rubbed down the wet plate with a towel and waited until Ashe met his eyes. His brow furrowed in consternation.

“El and some friends put a cow in the library,” he muttered. 

Dedue stopped rubbing the plate. Birds chirped outside, breaking the quiet of the morning kitchen. 

“What?” Dedue asked. 

Ashe took a deep breath in and held up his hand in explanation. He paused, choosing his words carefully, and shook his head. 

“My dear sweet brother and his friends had the brilliant decision to put a cow in the library,” he repeated. “And now he wants to get it out.” 

“Good,” Dedue said. 

Ashe groaned and ran a hand over his face. He leaned into his palm for a moment before popping it open and staring blankly down at the counter. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he said. 

“No you are not,” Dedue sighed and set down the plate. 

“I am, I really am.” From his laugh and the smile he wore, Dedue knew the joke when he saw it. “And if they kick him out for this I’m burning down the whole school.” 

That seemed less like a joke. Dedue sat down next to Ashe, watching him huff out laughter and shake his head. 

“He’s worried he’s not going to graduate and won’t be able to go to college,” Ashe said with a shake of his head. He picked up his coffee again. “I’m going to get that kid into college, kicking and screaming. And I’ll be the one kicking and screaming, mind you.” 

Ashe laughed into his coffee and took a far more tentative sip. Dedue watched him, feeling the morning slide back into track. Ashe set down the coffee onto the counter and the soft little _tip_ of it was the only noise in the kitchen. He leaned into his palm, examining Dedue. 

“I want them to meet you,” he said quietly. 

Dedue’s smile dropped and he sat up a little, unaware that he had hunched over in the first place. At his reaction, Ashe jolted, his own smile fading. 

“I mean, not right now,” he said. “They stay on campus during the holidays and I visit them, theres no room in my apartment so they don’t really have a home to ‘come home' to. You have some time, don't worry.” 

He coiled his fingers around the mug. 

“I just mean, eventually,” he said. 

Dedue huffed out a laugh. Like magnets, he leaned in again, drawn to Ashe. 

“That would be nice,” he said. “Do they know about me?” 

“Cinder does,” Ashe said. “She knows I have a boyfriend named Dedue and that its a secret relationship, but not that you’re my boss. I haven’t talked to El about it yet. . . about you yet. He’s got so much on his plate already. And I don’t really like to bring up whats going on in my life.” 

Dedue knew that. Painfully well. After the quiet conversation where they bared their souls, Dedue realized just how little he knew about Ashe. He didn’t want to pry or question too much, but Ashe volunteered little details piecemeal. Blurry memories of his mother, silly stories of his siblings when they were little, experimental recipes he had done with Christophe. Some happy, some less so. 

The rest, Dedue sussed out for himself. Suddenly it made sense why Ashe got up so early, how he could run on such little sleep. How he ate like a bird, only taking what he needed. At least when it wasn’t Dedue’s cooking. How quiet he was when he walked, how he picked up little details so quickly. 

All of it made more sense. 

And Dedue only fell for him more. 

“Sylvain officially knows, though,” Ashe said, with bored eyes. 

“He’s still teasing you?” Dedue asked. 

“Yeah.” Ashe pulled on his collar again. “Because of stuff like this.” 

No regret, no shame, Dedue simply could not feel bad about the hickey. He didn’t give Ashe any answer, not feeling the accusation justified one, opting instead to give into the natural pull and rest his lips against the purpled mark. 

Ashe’s ire produced tension disappeared. Dedue didn’t move, kissing the hickey and letting his mouth open around it. Lips traced the shape, slotting up against it like a shadow board. That was where his mouth belonged. His tongue slowly traced the circular shape and Ashe’s breathing picked up. 

“Dedue,” he breathed, his chest heaving in a slow ragged breaths. 

Dedue took that as invitation, sliding off his chair and his hand up Ashe’s thigh. He suckled at the skin, marking his beloved all the more. 

“Dedue,” Ashe said again. “We don’t have the time.” 

Dedue’s lips slid off Ashe’s skin and he looked over his shoulder. In those hot summer days, the sun shone like midday, even that early in the morning. 

“We have time,” he said. 

“I still need to ah!” 

Dedue’s hand slid higher up Ashe’s thigh, convincing him to stay as Dedue so often did. Greed had never been so rampant in Dedue before, but he wanted Ashe with a ferocity that should have scared him. Not just the physicality and the sex, but those little details Dedue had learned to read, the laughter when he talked, the stories of his family, the way he looked at Dedue and made him feel like the center of the universe. All of it. Dedue wanted it all. 

Ashe peeled Dedue’s hand off his thigh. 

“I still need to commute around the city and waste time,” Ashe said. 

“You could stay here,” Dedue said. 

That same pitiful consternation crossed Ashe’s face. 

“When I leave,” Dedue said. “You could waste your time here and follow when its been enough time.” 

Ashe’s brows pressed together in a quiet question. 

“I could give you a key.” 

Those brows rose. Ashe’s eyes went wide. He may have been the one to initiate that first kiss, but it was Dedue who took the large steps forward in their relationship. Clearing out a drawer, making room for a second toothbrush, making room for Ashe in his life. 

They weren’t casual. 

What they had was real. 

A soft smile relaxed on Ashe. He rested a single finger to Dedue’s lips. 

“Lets. . . put a pin in that,” he said. “We can talk about keys tonight, okay?” 

Dedue smiled behind Ashe’s fingers. He pressed a gentle kiss to the pads. Ashe’s hands cupped his face and he rose to standing, replacing his fingers with a kiss. The clear good bye in it. Dedue let his boyfriend slip from his arms and head out the door. The long lingering look was yet another part of their morning routine. 

Walking to work had been another part of their routine, even though Dedue did it alone. The residual sensations of Ashe’s touch, of their intimate time in Dedue’s kitchen, left Dedue with a small high and he practically floated to work. It was pleasant, to start off his morning with love and kindness. It changed Dedue’s whole demeanor. Even his kitchen had noticed, a notch more jovial than normal. 

It gave Dedue a happy start to his day. 

Even when he came into work only to hear yelling. 

“She thinks she can come into _my_ town!” 

Dedue watched the shadows in Mercedes’ office, slowly pulling his freshly cleaned chef’s jacket off the hook.

“Who the hell does she think she is!?” 

Dimitri paced back and forth, his hands going up in the air. Mercedes spoke at normal tones and Dedue couldn’t parse what she was saying. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” 

“Dimitri,” Mercedes hissed, loud enough for Dedue to hear. 

“Sorry,” Dimitri mumbled. 

Dedue knocked on the door. The ranting instantly stopped and Dedue could see Dimitri’s body whip around. He was quick to open the door, but only a crack. 

“Come in,” he ordered Dedue. 

Dedue stepped in sideways through the small opening Dimitri left and ignored the way his boss slammed the door. 

“What is–?” Dedue tried. 

“I’ll tell you what is!” Dimitri said, pointing an accusatory finger. His eyes were wide and he wore a grimace that could almost be mistaken for a smile. A bloodthirsty manic smile, but all the same. Dedue already knew before Dimitri had to say it. “Edelgard that's what is!” 

“Ah,” Dedue said. 

Once every so often, Dimitri would visit his sister. _Step_ sister. Edelgard. She had also gone into the restaurant business, the two of them simultaneously deciding to open their own restaurants without knowledge of the other doing so. But where Dimitri had put all his time, effort, and resources into HKF, Edelgard went broader. 

“Dimitri went to visit Edelgard over the weekend,” Mercedes explained. “Apparently she read the Rhea review.” 

Dedue looked from Mercedes to Dimitri, moving slowly as if afraid to disturb a wild animal. 

Dimitri slumped back into a chair and pressed his face into his fingers, eyes squeezed shut. 

“She’s thinking of opening another location,” Mercedes said delicately. 

“Probably already speaking to property agents,” Dimitri grumbled into his hand. 

“Where?” Dedue asked. 

Dimitri gave his head chef a flat look. That was all the answer Dedue needed. 

“Do you know that building for sale downtown?” Mercedes said. “The one that used to be a chinese buffet and an italian restaurant before that?” 

“Ah,” Dedue said again. 

Edelgard owned a chain of restaurants. Flame. A large step up from family sit downs, but still there was no innovation. A single head chef had been hired to make a strict menu that the rest of the kitchens adhered to as a cohesive whole. It was impressive that each and every chef under her employ managed to keep that kind of consistency, but there was no change to the menu. It meant that customers could rely on receiving the same meals every time without being challenged. That they could have a mildly more lavish meal without completely breaking the bank. 

“It means she’ll be in direct competition with us,” Dimitri mumbled sullenly. 

Going up against a restaurant like Flame might be a hard blow to HKF’s customer base. Affordable where HKF was pricey, making it more of a commodity. Reliable and safe rather than an alternating menu. 

It would be a straight up attack. 

“Could you just tell her not to?” Dedue tried. 

Dimitri scoffed. 

“You try telling _Edelgard_ what to do,” he said. 

“Hmm.” 

“What we need to do is scare her,” Dimitri continued. “Spook her. Make her not want to work here.” 

“Tell her how awful it is here?” Mercedes laughed. “Thats not going to work when we’re thriving.” 

Dimitri rubbed at his chin. Dedue could see the wheels turning in his boss’ head. The moment Dimitri came upon an idea, his eyes widened. He slowly looked up to Dedue, a smile curling at his lips. 

“I could invite her for dinner,” he said softly. 

Dedue’s blood ran cold. 

“Sir. . .,” he said. 

Dimitri flinched and rose to his feet. 

“Dont. . .” He huffed out a frustrated breath. “Just do what you did with Rhea. Make the best damn meal of your life and Edelgard won’t think twice about fucking with us.” 

“I don’t think thats–”

“No, this could work,” Mercedes said, patting down the air. She smiled and it was finally genuine. “We show her what she would be up against and maybe she’ll decide its not worth it.” 

“Thats a stretch,” Dedue said. 

“Dedue.” Dimitri clapped his hands on Dedue’s shoulders with enough force to rock him. “I need you to do this okay? I need you to scare her away.” 

Dedue wasn’t sure what to say to that. Pinned down with strong hands and a manic grin. 

“And it can’t be 7/10, okay?” Dimitri said, his grip tightening. “I need it to blow her out of the water.” 

Dedue looked from Dimitri to Mercedes. She nodded enthusiastically. 

“. . . okay,” Dedue said. 

Dimitri’s smile turned back into his normal charismatic one and he clapped Dedue’s shoulders once. 

“Thank you my friend,” he said. “Thank you.” 

Dedue stepped out of the office shakily. Ingrid had already arrived and was working on prep. Dedue slid in next to her silently, not wanting to speak for the rest of the day. 

“What was that all about?” she asked monotone.

Dedue looked to his sous chef then back down to his own cutting board. Ingrid huffed, threw down her knife, and went to Mercedes’ office. 

“What was that all about!?” she asked again with more force. 

And just like that, the whole kitchen knew by the time everyone was in. Caspar and Linhardt talked loudly about what they liked and hated about Flame. More like Caspar talked and every so often Cyril would interject with opinions. 

Ashe came in last, as he had been doing those days. Caspar relayed the good news and a shaky glance was spared in Dedue’s direction. 

The conversation that had been put down so long ago had never been picked up again. Of why Dedue hadn’t cooked his best for Rhea. Of why he didn’t serve something of Duscur. 

Dedue kept waiting for that other shoe to drop, for Ashe to _say_ something. He didn’t want to bring up that particular conflict and kept it to himself, thinking Ashe might be the same. Not wanting to fight when they were so happy. 

The glance was brief, only a second long, but in it Dedue could hear that whole conversation, that whole argument, all over again. 

_’not your best’_

He put his head down and began working on a menu. 

Reject the pâté, get rid of the branzino, maybe keep the soup. But repeating himself felt wrong, especially if its what Edelgard is expecting. Be at 10 out of 10, ‘scare the bitch.’ 

Dedue glanced over his shoulder again to look at Ashe. 

He thought of chickpea paste. Of spiced lamb. Of specialty items and flavor combinations that were almost long gone. 

He thought of his grandmother’s kitchen. He thought of the hand he saw in the rubble. 

Dedue leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, squeezing them shut until they hurt. And he tried not to think. 

“Chef,” Ingrid said, sounding like it wasn’t her first time, putting strict emphasis on the word. 

Dedue turned to look at his sous. She jerked her head to the pass. There were order slips piling up. Dedue snatched the first one and called out. 

“One steak, one salmon, heard?” 

“What was that?” Linhardt called back. 

“One steak, one salmon, heard!?” Dedue barked. 

“Heard chef!” his kitchen called back. 

Dedue tried to focus on his job, not let his mind wander, but the whiplash of his morning hadn’t allowed his head to slow down. He couldn’t focus on what was important, on the here and now. His mind jumped from Dimitri’s insistence to the ever growing clashing ideas of a 10 out of 10 menu, to wounds that had been so recently reopened. 

He found himself holding another order, the numerous plates at the pass long since blurred out of his vision, ignoring the glares from his sous chef he _felt_ on the back of his neck. Slowly and steadily, he looked up. 

Ashe had stepped out of the kitchen and into the dining room. It was still early in the service and they weren’t quite full yet, but something in the back of Dedue’s mind told him to be annoyed that he was down one chef. 

Ashe leaned over the bar, snapping his fingers to get Sylvain’s attention. Once he did, the bartender laughed and pointed to his neck. On reflex, Ashe slapped his hand over the mark Dedue had left and spat something out at Sylvain. 

That, at least, made Dedue smile. He slid back into service, albeit tentatively. 

Not even half an hour later, Dedue knew he needed to cool off. To clear his head. He went to the bathroom, leaving the pass to Ingrid. The room was a posh sort of clean, decked out in dark greys with accents of whites. The towels provided after washing hands were made of a thick almost cloth like material and it perpetually smelled of potpourri. The music that was obscured in the dining room played softly over low volume speakers that echoed off the ceramic tiling. All decisions Dedue would never come up with and he was glad that his sole responsibility was food. 

He splashed water onto his face, trying to clear his head. It didn’t work. 

His mind still swirled of the warm meals of a home that no longer existed. 

He paused with his face hidden in his hands. He took slow deep breaths, his body rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. 

He tried to bury his feelings back down as if under so much rubble. 

The door opened and closed quickly. Dedue was slow to look up to see who entered. 

Ashe stood with his back against the door, hands folded behind his back, and an exhilarated, breathless expression on his face. He smiled shakily at Dedue. 

“Hey,” he said. 

Dedue instantly perked up. He wanted to drag Ashe into his arms and crawl under the sink with him. He wanted to pull him close against his chest, to bury his face into his neck, until he could no longer think. Instead, he steeled himself and pretended like they weren’t together. Mostly pretended. 

“Hi,” Dedue said. 

Ashe smiled a tiny little smile and stepped further into the bathroom. He bent over and looked under the stalls quickly, checking for shoes. Dedue’s brows pinched together and he waited until Ashe stood upright again, clapping his hands at his sides. 

“Me and Sylvain were going to go check out Flame tonight,” Ashe said in a single breath. 

Dedue blinked at that, recoiled as if flicked. 

“Is there one near here?” Dedue asked slowly. 

“About a 3 hour drive.” 

Dedue stood up a little straighter. His mouth opened. He was unsure what to say. 

He needn’t say anything, Ashe spoke before he could. 

“I’ve never been before,” Ashe said. “And I wanted to check it out. You know. . . scope the competition.” 

He sounded sweet. Ashe always sounded sweet and kind and innocent. But Dedue knew better. He knew how devious his sweet little boyfriend could be. How vicious and cutting, even if they were always backed with the best of intentions. 

“I’m just letting you know, as my boss, that I’m headed out early.” 

“Oh.” That disappointed Dedue somewhat. “Are you asking permission?” 

“No,” Ashe said and there was that deviousness again. “I’m just letting you know.” 

“Hm.” 

“And.” Ashe took a large step closer. Dangerously closer. The proximity that made Dedue’s heart race. The only way that it did when they were at work and Ashe let these little moments seep out. 

“As my . . . boyfriend,” he said with a quick glance to the side. “That I probably won’t make it to yours tonight.” 

“Oh.” That really disappointed Dedue. If he had to choose, he would prefer Ashe come home with him, but he wasn’t about to say so. 

Not even when Ashe asked, “Is that okay? This time I’m asking.” 

Dedue smiled, his hand itching and twitching with the desire to reach out and run his touch down Ashe’s face. 

“Its okay,” he said. “I can always see you tomorrow.” 

Ashe smiled, quiet and small. He looked to the door briefly and that small little glance was enough to make Dedue’s heart go overtime. Ashe stepped in closer than dangerous and took a fistful of Dedue’s coat in his hand. Just enough to make the top button pop. He leaned in and kissed Dedue, resting his lips soft against Dedue’s own pliant ones, just a beat too long to be brief. And then another. 

“Thank you,” Ashe said, as if Dedue had any say. 

“Thank you,” Dedue said, for letting Dedue feel like he did. 

Ashe put space between them, still too close for employee and boss, but far enough that it could almost be read as inconspicuous. 

“I’m going to head out,” he said. “Before Annette yells at us again.” 

Dedue laughed under his breath, tucking his head down to avert his eyes. He gave in to the urge and let his hand trail down Ashe’s. Just to touch, just for a second. 

“Drive safely,” he said. 

“I will,” Ashe said, stepping back further, slowly slipping out of Dedue’s hold, making it last as long as possible. “I’ll call you later okay?” 

Dedue nodded once. 

Ashe resumed his posture, leaning against the door again, to simply stare at Dedue for a long breathless moment. When he had seen his full, he nodded once, and stepped back out into the restaurant. 

Oddly, Dedue felt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up kiddos 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	17. Not Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brow furrowed and frowning, he opened his front door to see who was knocking so late at night. 
> 
> Sylvain stood on the other side with a limp Ashe leaned against him, one arm slung over Sylvain’s shoulders. He winced at the fresh light on his face, swaying like a sailor at sea, his bangs hanging low over his eyes and his head hung low.
> 
> “I believe this is yours?” Sylvain asked, with a strained smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not have a good time writing this chapter :')

Dedue was camped out on the couch, idly writing down ideas for Edelgard’s visit, when there was a rapid fire knock at his door. He jumped in place and looked over his shoulder, then to the clock, then back to the door again. Another knock clipped through his home, more sing song and less urgent. 

Dedue closed the cook book he had open for ideas and rose to his feet. Brow furrowed and frowning, he opened his front door to see who was knocking so late at night. 

Sylvain stood on the other side with a limp Ashe leaned against him, one arm slung over Sylvain’s shoulders. He winced at the fresh light on his face, swaying like a sailor at sea, his bangs hanging low over his eyes and his head hung low.

“I believe this is yours?” Sylvain asked, with a strained smile. 

Dedue stood in his doorway, eyes wide, looking from his line cook to the bartender and back again. 

“What. . .?” Dedue tried, not knowing what the question would be. 

Ashe groaned, his head flopping the other way. 

“He’s drunk,” Sylvain offered by way of explanation. “Can we come in?” 

Ashe groaned again, leaning in heavier into Sylvain. The way in which he kept his face turned was less out of alcoholic influence and more to do with shame. He couldn’t look Dedue in the eye. 

Dedue sighed and stepped aside, with just enough room for Sylvain to limp his boyfriend in. Sylvain wasted no time, beelining for the couch, and promptly deposited Ashe into the cushions. He made no move to look around Dedue’s home, no curiosity or comment, just a man on a mission. Dedue watched the way Ashe staggered, half awake on his feet, and immediately went for some water. 

They reconvened in front of Ashe, Sylvain with his hands on his hips. Dedue tried to hand off the glass of water, but Ashe barely looked at it. His eyes blinked open and his head flopped up, blurry eyes squinting up at Dedue. His brow furrowed, whether in anger or confusion, Dedue couldn’t tell. 

“Please drink some water,” Dedue said. 

Ashe swiped for the glass too strong, but his manual dexterity and compromised depth perception allowed him to hit the side of the glass and take it in hand. He shoved the rim against his face, trying to take in great gulps, and ended up coughing out water. He doubled over, wet spitting over his chin in an ungraceful mess. 

“Welp,” Sylvain said. “You tried.” 

“Shut up Sylvain,” Ashe slurred. 

Sylvain sighed and looked to Dedue. 

“What happened?” Dedue asked. 

“Hey man, not my fault,” Sylvain said, holding his hands up for protection.

Ashe slumped sulking back into the couch, an angry sneer pulling at his lip. He sipped at his water more slowly. 

Sylvain clicked his tongue. He looked between Ashe and Dedue before sighing heavily and taking Dedue by the arm. The bartender led him back into the kitchen. 

“I don’t know _exactly_ what happened,” Sylvain said, hushed and conspiratorially. "One minute we were fine, making fun of the decor, and then we started trying the food and he just got. . ." 

Sylvain waved his arm in the direction of the couch. Ashe groaned and listed to the side, attempting to lean his elbow against the arm but he was too far away. 

“And I was testing out their drinks, crap by the way,” Sylvain said. “But just tasting them. Boy wonder over there was downing everyone of them.” 

Dedue’s mouth worried into a thin line, caught between concern and disappointment. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“I don’t know.” Sylvain looked back over his shoulder, the same concoction of emotion apparent on his face. “He just started going off about how mediocre the food was and then he started talking about you. Something about how you can do better? That you’re going to just ‘default to what they want’ or something?” 

And there it was. The other shoe. Dropped. 

Dedue’s shoulders slumped. His frown faded. He looked to the side and took a deep breath in. 

Sylvain leaned in, leaning to the side to keep eye contact with Dedue. 

“Hey,” he said. “We all know you’re going to make something stellar when Edelgard shows up, you don’t need to worry.” 

Dedue waved him off. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to explain. He barely wanted to have this conversation with Ashe at all, let alone let someone else in on it. 

Sylvain sighed and stood up straight. He looked back to the lump on the couch. 

“Anyways, he insisted I take him here,” he said. “I figured you baby sitting him is better than me.” 

“Thank you Sylvain,” Dedue muttered, his eyes not leaving the crown of silver hair poking just above the couch back. The glass on the coffee table wobbled as Ashe went for it and the sound of the glass circling clattered on the other side. 

Dedue waited for the fall but it never came. 

“Welp,” Sylvain said, pulling out his phone and heading to the door. “I’m going to call a cab and go home. We took his car.” 

He fished the keys out of his pocket and left them on the kitchen island. Stalling for just a moment longer, Dedue walked Sylvain to the door. The bartender hopped down the steps into the warm night air, looking significantly more upbeat than when he arrived. He paused at the base and turned around. 

“Look,” he said. “I don’t shit where I eat.” 

Dedue’s brows rose at that. 

“I don’t,” Sylvain insisted. “I mean I may talk a big game, but at most I just flirt with the cute wait staff and thats about as far as it goes. I could never do what you guys are doing. Not saying that you guys are fucking up, I just wanted to keep my nose out of your business.” 

Dedue leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. 

“Ashe says otherwise,” he said. 

Sylvain rolled his eyes and chuffed. 

“Thats different,” he said. “But.” 

He looked back into the apartment, just past Dedue. His brows knit close and a look of almost worry crossed his face. He paused for that long moment and Dedue could hear the traffic still flowing in the distance. 

“You’re good for each other,” Sylvain said. 

Dedue wasn’t expecting that. The grip he had across his chest slackened. The defenses he usually put up around Sylvain stuttered. His brow furrowed in silent question. 

“I mean, Ashe seems. . . really happy. All the time. And like he wants to talk about you all the time. He doesn’t but you can tell he’s bursting with it,” Sylvain said. 

Dedue sighed and gently looked over his shoulder. The arm on the couch flopped over and a limp hand dangled off the side. Despite the fight he knew was coming, he still felt that warmth in his heart. 

“And you.” Sylvain puffed out a little laugh. “You’re different.” 

Dedue’s eyes slid back to the bartender, wanting to be offended or accusatory, but the quiet softness in his heart couldn’t quite conjure up such feelings. 

“You’re more relaxed,” Sylvain explained. “. . . happier.” 

Dedue’s eyes slowly travelled to the ground. A small ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. 

Sylvain was right. 

“Anyways,” Sylvain said, clapping his hands at his sides and taking a few steps back. “I gotta get home. Invite me to the wedding.” 

Dedue snorted and went to close the door. 

“Good night Sylvain,” he said. 

The bartender turned in place and waved a lazy hand in the air. 

Door closed, Dedue was sealed inside for the night. 

Sealed inside with an irate, drunk, irritated boyfriend. 

And his willful attitude towards Dedue’s cooking. 

Sighing heavily, Dedue walked across his kitchen and approached his sulking boyfriend. He practically floated across the room, a dissociation between the movements of his body and the screaming in his mind not to engage. That maybe he could coo Ashe to his bed, whisper sweet things to him, go back to hiding this unspoken tension under the carpet. 

Instead, he rounded the couch and looked down at a sullen Ashe. 

He was slumped low, eyes heavy, face blank. In his hand was the notepad Dedue had been writing on. The one with his ideas for Edelgard’s terror meal. 

The one devoid of Duscur. 

Ashe’s dull eyes looked up to Dedue. 

“Don’t do this,” he said, lazily flopping the notepad. 

Dedue took a deep breath in and said nothing. Stress and strain balled up in his throat. 

“Don’t make this meal,” Ashe repeated. 

“Ashe,” Dedue chastised. 

“Don’t, Dedue.” Ashe sat up and it looked like a strain. “Just don’t.” 

Dedue’s jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists at his sides, pulsating open and closed again. He looked away, unable to look Ashe in the eye. 

“This is . . .” Ashe shook the notepad in the air, glaring at it if _it_ had been the one to offend him and not Dedue. “This is mediocre. This is not going to do what Dimitri asked. This is not 10 out of 10. You can do so much better and we both know it.”

Dedue slumped down and took a seat on the couch, as far away from Ashe as he could. He curled in on himself, glaring at the floor. 

“And I don’t. . . I don’t. Get it,” Ashe said, exasperated. “I just don’t understand, Dedue.” 

Dedue had no words. He folded his hands between his knees and his grip was tight and painful. An attempt to hold everything back, to hold it in. 

“You make the most beautiful food and you just keep it hidden away.” Ashe sounded clogged up, whether from drink or if he was close to tears. “Its like you’re scared to share it. I was _shocked_. . . ugh shocked. Shocked to find that Dimitri doesn’t know about your Duscur food.” 

Dedue’s jaw shook from the frown in his lips. The space between his brows hurt from where it was knit together. 

“Its just.” Ashe’s voice went soft. He shifted, leaning across the gap to reach hand to Dedue, to connect them together again. “Your cooking is so beautiful. And I . . . I understand that–”

“No! You don’t!” 

Ashe barely got his fingers on Dedue’s arm when Dedue snapped. He leapt to his feet, fists shaking at his sides, eyes glaring down at the shockingly smaller man. He leaned forward, casting him in shadow. 

“You don’t understand Ashe!” he shouted. “You don’t know. You weren’t there. You don't. . . you don’t have these memories.” 

Dedue tapped the side of his head with enough force to hurt. The place where bombs still whistled in his mind, where he still smelled ash and blood in the air. 

“They’re not yours!” he bellowed. He tapped his chest, beating it in a staccato with the tips of his fingers. The words struggled to get out. “They’re _mine_. Its _my_ food. They belong to _me_. So do not tell me you understand Ashe because clearly you don’t. Its _mine_ and _I_ get to decide what to do with it, not _you_!” 

Dedue was blind with fury and rage. Everything that had building up in him, when he cooked alone, his tender gardening that held so much more than a chore, quick glances to his staff as he hid his meals. Ashe taking a bit of the pepper. Ashe eating and praising the food. Wanting to teach Ashe all he knew. The quiet conversation where Dedue finally admitted where he came from. The pain and loss and the family he missed. The food that dredged it back up and soothed him all the same. The endless perpetual cycle of wanting to find relief and open up scabbed over wounds. 

The mere fact that it was the one person he loved the most scraping it open again. 

All of it. All of it boiled over until he burned.

“It’s my food,” Dedue said one last time, his voice cracking and a hot sting blurring his eyes. “Not yours.” 

He sucked in one last shaking breath of air and pointed fiercely at the man he loved. 

“So _back off_!” 

Dedue gasped for air, his chest heaving through the strain of it. His throat ached, burned like a dry winter frostbite. He felt wet on his cheek and blinked it back. 

When his eyes were clear, he could see Ashe again. 

Ashe barely moved. He did not look afraid from the intimidating outburst, nor did he look upset. He did not have the shock or anger or sadness that Dedue held. There was no fight in him, no tears in his eyes. 

Just a dull, numb, slack jawed expression as he blankly stared up at Dedue. 

Slowly, his eyes lowered, his brain coming back to functioning. His chin tilted down and he looked around, groping for his phone. 

“I should. . .” he said, clearing his throat and speaking so painfully soft. “I should go.” 

Anger immediately fell from Dedue’s shoulders and he panted. The strain in his face slipped away, transforming from the extreme of fearsome anger to pitiful need. 

“Ashe,” he pleaded, his abused throat making the name come out too soft. 

That was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want Ashe to leave. In that moment he wanted comfort. He wanted to take Ashe to bed, to smooth back his hair, to kiss him sweetly. He wanted waiting arms to wrap around him and tell him everything would be alright, even when it wasn’t. 

“No,” Ashe said, pulling up a ride share app. “No I should go.” 

“You don’t. . .” Dedue tried. “You don’t have to.” 

Ashe just shook his head, his eyes down and unable to look up at Dedue. 

“I’m drunk,” he admitted. “I’m not in the right mind for this.” 

He stood up off the couch on shaky legs and looked as if he might stumble back down. Dedue reached out to catch him, but Ashe only took a step out of grabbing distance. 

“You’re drunk,” Dedue agreed. “You shouldn’t drive.” 

“I’m taking a cab,” Ashe said. “I’ll come back for my car in the morning.” 

“Ashe,” Dedue pleaded. He reached out and took hold of Ashe’s hand and finally those beautiful green eyes looked up at him. “Stay.” 

Ashe opened his mouth, breathing in deep, his eyes looking away again. 

“I need to clear my head,” he said quietly. “We can talk about this when I’m sober.” 

Detached and cold. A face he would put on for young children who needed to know that their big brother wasn’t scared out of his mind for their safety. A face he put on to not let his boyfriend know just how scared and hurt he was. 

Dedue could see right through it. 

“I’ll text you when I get home,” Ashe said, slipping out of Dedue’s hand. 

Dedue had nothing left. Nothing he could say, no way he could physically keep Ashe from walking out the door. 

He didn’t have the right. 

Ashe stumbled out Dedue’s front door and down the steps. Dedue watched him sway back and forth on the sidewalk and watched him get into someone else’s car and watched him drive away. Numbly, Dedue walked upstairs to his bed. He didn’t have it in him to change or brush his teeth or go through the motions of getting ready for bed and instead lay down in the clothes that still smelled of HKF. He lay curled up around his phone until it buzzed. 

_home safe_ the text read. 

_thank you_ Dedue texted back. 

He stared at the screen, his thumbs twitching over the on screen pad. He typed out the words that had been sitting in his heart for months. 

_I love you_

Dedue stared at those words. They scared him. They clogged off his air and fuzzed over his brain. The terrible frightening moment to know that he had finally _finally_ given all that power to someone who already held it. That he admitted it out loud and knew there would be no going back. 

He erased it and put down his phone instead. 

Dedue curled up on top of his sheets, unable to sleep, and wondered how badly he messed this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at the beginning of this fic: I'm gonna write a fun chef au where they fuck on the kitchen counter :D 
> 
> Me 17 chapters in: WHEN DID THIS BECOME ABOUT PTSD AND CULTURAL APPROPRIATION!? 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	18. Tashens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue lay in bed wide awake and watched as his ceiling turned from a deep shadowy black to a pale grey to a streak of gold. His heart raced and he could hear it in his ears. There was a sting to his eyes and he couldn’t remember if he had cried or not. 
> 
> It was hard to think of the night before as their first fight. It was far too easy for Dedue to consider it their last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will officially cap out at 24 chapters! Hopefully we can get through them quick! I'm going to finish this bad boy, I promise you!

Dedue lay in bed wide awake and watched as his ceiling turned from a deep shadowy black to a pale grey to a streak of gold. His heart raced and he could hear it in his ears. There was a sting to his eyes and he couldn’t remember if he had cried or not. 

It was hard to think of the night before as their first fight. It was far too easy for Dedue to consider it their last. 

The way Ashe’s face had fallen, the dullness in his eyes. What Dedue did with his cooking had been so important to Ashe, important enough that in his inebriated state he _insisted_ on confronting Dedue about it. He had brought all his weapons of kindness and support and determination and conjoling and turned them on Dedue. 

As he lay there in his bed, Dedue thought maybe it was best if he just gave in, just gave Ashe what he wanted, but the second that thought entered his head, his throat closed up. The sting in his eyes burned brighter. His world fuzzed. 

Dedue wished he could do it. He wished he could push the thoughts from his mind. 

He had spent so many years keeping those recipes safe and close to his chest. How much he missed his family and trying to recreate them from rough ingredients that grew in foreign soil. 

How he only managed to recreate himself, displaced from where he was, and even then it wasn’t quite right. 

He could never get it right. 

The thought of delivering that food to a stranger or worse, Dimitri’s rival sister, was unappealing. Dedue rejected it outright. He’d dig his heels in if he had to. 

His eyes squinted as the sun beams that crossed his ceiling fuzzed into the shadows. The wet that pricked at the corners of his eyes threatened to finally fall. 

Dedue didn’t want to lose Ashe either. 

His alarm blared in the silence of his room and once again Ashe had left Dedue with another sleepless night. He sat up and gently shut his clock off. He’d have to exercise, shower, eat. All the motions of a human that he didn’t feel like. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with them. Even the thought of using the time to once again remake his mother’s breakfasts seemed far too painful. 

Instead he lugged himself out of bed to stand in his bathroom and count the minutes. 

It wasn’t until he was fully dressed and having just finished brushing his teeth that a gentle knock came from his front door. Almost too quiet to hear. Tentative and afraid.

Dedue’s heart leapt at the sound of it. Flip flopping in his throat where it once again choked him off. He looked in the mirror, seeing the mess that Ashe had left behind the night before. Dark circles under his eyes, hair still down and skewed, a red ring around his eye lids. A mess. Not a presentation he’d want to have in front of Ashe, but it was all he had. 

There was no second knock, but Dedue knew Ashe was waiting patiently on the other side. He wouldn’t leave him waiting. 

Dedue trudged down his stairs, afraid to look at his front door. He rested his hand on the knob, released a long breath, and opened it. 

Ashe did not look much better than Dedue did. He wore a smile, as he often did, but it was weak, shaky. His eyes were also smudged and red, a mirror to Dedue’s. His skin was pale and his shoulders slumped in absolute defeat. He swayed, similar to the way he had the night before, only out of exhaustion instead of drink. His hands were folded behind his back. 

“Hey,” Ashe said, his voice crackling from lack of sleep, like he had been screaming. 

“Hi,” Dedue said. His knuckles whitened from his grip on the door. 

A wave of silence rolled between them. In the distance, a bird called out, singing for the sunrise. The morning traffic rumbled by, as foreign as a dream. Disconnected from the grey world they made on Dedue’s stoop.

Ashe’s shaky smile faded slowly, a gradient of nerves that slowly set in. Dedue wanted to reach out, to pull him close, to lie to him and tell him everything was alright and to please please please come back to bed. 

Instead, he spoke. 

“Ashe I–”

“You’re right,” Ashe said. 

The lack of sleep had addled Dedue’s brain and left it as a bowl of mush. Ashe’s eyes were wide and earnest. There was that determination again. Sleep deprived and a little crazed, but recognizable all the same. 

Dedue sighed, feeling the exhaustion coil in the back of his mouth. 

“Ashe, you don’t–”

“No please.” Ashe shook his head and held up one hand. “Please. Let me. . . I need to tell you this.” 

Dedue finally let go of the door handle. He stood up straight over the threshold of his home, arms limp at his sides, and he heaved a heavy sigh. He nodded once, giving Ashe the go ahead. 

Ashe took a deep breath in. 

“You’re right and I’m sorry,” he said. “I had _no right_ to think I had a say in what you do and do not do with your Duscur recipes. They are _yours_. Not mine. And I hate that I needed to be reminded that, but I did. Thank you for doing that.” 

Ashe’s brows furrowed and he bit his lower lip. He fretted over his next words, as if trying to hold them back. He barked out a sad little laugh and looked away. 

“I know its just an excuse,” he said. “But I just love your food so much. Its so good and it was hard to see you holding back like that.” 

“Ashe.” Dedue took a step closer, every fiber of his being vibrating with the need to reach out to Ashe. 

Ashe bowed his head, shaking. 

“But no,” he said. “You’re right. And.” 

He looked up, a swollen sort of pride in his eyes. They shone and his voice took on a clogged quality. 

“You shared it with me,” he said, his voice cracking once more. “And you didn’t have to, but you did. For that I’m so _so_ grateful, Dedue. So honored.” 

Ashe’s smile returned, bright and genuine. A spit of sunshine in Dedue’s life. For the first time since the night before, Dedue felt a sort of relief. That he wouldn’t have to compromise his life to keep Ashe around. That Ashe would just stay, regardless. 

Ashe nodded once, making an agreement with his own words. 

“I’m not going to push you on this anymore,” he said. “After this, we can drop it and I’ll never mention it again.” 

The sun peeked over the horizon and a bit of rays kissed Ashe’s hair, making him shimmer in the daylight. He glowed and it had nothing to do with the sunrise. A smile filled with hope. 

“You were right,” he said again, voice soft and tender. “I’m sorry.” 

Ashe didn’t have to say all that. They could have kept fighting, he could have kept insisting, and Dedue would still accept him every time. Dedue just wanted to continue to have Ashe in his life, more than the willful need to be right. 

But Ashe had given him that. A grateful warmth spread through his chest. He couldn’t stop the aching smile that etched across his face and couldn’t look Ashe in the eye. He lowered his gaze and nodded. 

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.” 

Ashe released a soft sigh of relief, his body deflating in front of Dedue. When he smiled again, it was the soft sweet smile of the Ashe Dedue knew so well. He stepped aside, ready to invite Ashe in, to make him breakfast and pour him coffee and try to move forward from that point. 

But something caught his eye. 

Ashe held a baggie in his hand, the kind used to hold sandwiches. The inside was spottily coated with powdered sugar, but Dedue could make out the shapes. Puffed up triangles, all bumped haphazardly against one another. 

Shapes Dedue had written off and thought he'd never see again. 

Dedue froze, eyes unblinking and focused on the baggie. Blame the lack of sleep, but a shock of cold ran through his system. A surprise he hadn't been prepared for and didn't quite know how to process. 

"Are those. . .," he tried to ask. "Are those tashens?" 

"Oh, yeah," Ashe laughed nervously. "Yeah I made them for you. I guess it was a last ditch attempt in case you didn't accept my apology, but that seems stupid now." 

Ashe held the bag up and Dedue couldn't look anywhere else. 

"I stress bake so I figured I might as well try, you know?" Ashe laughed again, but it sounded so far away. "I don't think I got them quite. . . right. . ." 

On steady fingers, Dedue plucked the baggie from Ashe's hand. The plastic crinkled as he pulled it closer, opening to peer inside. Not having to look through the powdered walls, Dedue could see the shape clearly. The folded walls of the puff pastry and the way the sugar slipped between the lamination. The bit of fruit filling, which may have just been jam jar jelly, whatever Ashe had at the time, but it only added to the homemade effect. Not a professional off the line boxed good, but something special. 

Dedue plucked the top one from the stack and the rest shifted to fill in the space. Powdered sugar immediately clung to his fingers in a sticky mess. The jelly center clung firmly in place, shining in the sun as if it were a jewel. 

Dedue turned it over in his hand, inspecting the corners to pinpoint where exactly it was reaching out to him. Soft tendrils climbing inside his chest and twisting into familiar shapes. A scent in the air of an oven working overtime in the heat, baked goods that weren’t quite finished despite the finished product in his hand. 

He took a bite. 

The sugar stuck to the corners of his lips, but he didn’t care. The tashen was just the right consistency, just soft enough with the little bit of crunch that couldn’t be heard but could be felt. The jelly was a slight tang of sweet on the tongue but didn’t spill over the sides. A too sweet confectionary that had been baked to perfection. 

The last time Dedue had eaten a tashen, he hadn’t been tall enough to look over the counter. Just barely. He still needed a stool if he wanted to do anything. 

He remembered sitting patiently and waiting quietly in the other room as the scent of fresh cookies wafted through their home. Even if he went outside he could still smell it. He knew better than to ask if they were done yet, knowing that they’d be done when they were done. He remembered looking in through the window to see his grandmother pull the tray out of the oven and ducking behind the sill when she turned to see who was peeping. Patience came hard that day and minutes felt like hours, but in the end Dedue had won out. 

The tashens were made for him. 

Those tashens had been made for him. 

Standing on his stoop in that early morning mist, Dedue once again ate tashens that were made for him. 

And he could taste it. 

He took another bite, the first bite having not yet been swallowed, but he was greedy for more. The world frosting over into blurs. It became a little hard to breathe and he couldn’t tell if he was getting sugar all over his face like he had when he was young. He was devolving into a mess but he couldn’t seem to care. 

“Dedue?” 

Dedue looked up, having almost forgotten Ashe was there entirely. Lost in his own world and memories. 

Ashe held his hands in front of him, fingers folded over one another in concern. His brows were pinched together in worry, frowning slightly as he watched Dedue crumble. Worried for what was happening to Dedue. 

This man who had made him food from him home, who briefly brought Duscur back to Dedue. Who cared enough for him and poured his love into a simple tashen. Who finally opened Dedue to what he had been saying for so long. 

Dedue was finally shaking as he reached for Ashe. He wrapped his arms around Ashe’s smaller frame, holding on too tight as he squeezed him close to his body. He pressed his face into the crook of Ashe’s neck, wanting to hide there, to crawl in and be where it was safest. He clung to Ashe as if Dedue were drowning and Ashe was the last buoy. 

Ashe’s hands gently wrapped around him, holding Dedue as if he were fragile. In that moment, he might have very well been. 

Dedue nodded, still hiding in Ashe’s shoulder. 

“Okay,” he said and his voice rasped as he did. “I’ll do it.” 

“What?” Ashe asked quietly. 

Dedue pulled away slowly to look Ashe in the eye and he could tell what a blubbering mess he was from Ashe’s reaction alone. Dedue nodded again. 

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll cook Duscur food.” 

A pained sigh flowed through Ashe and he held Dedues’ face in his hands. He swiped his thumb at the corner of Dedue’s lip telling him that, yes, he’d gotten sugar there. 

“I said you don’t have to,” Ashe said, looking far more tired than when he arrived. 

Dedue shook his head, leaning his palm into Ashe’s hand. 

“I want to,” he said. “I want to do it. For me. I need to do it.” 

He looked Ashe in the eyes, trying to communicate all his determination and resolve. 

“I’m going to cook for Duscur,” he said. 

The next breath from Ashe was heavy and it shook. He could see the pinpricks of tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t need to cry, but the smile across his face told Dedue that there was no stopping it. He nodded with Dedue one more time. 

“Okay,” he said leaning in to kiss Dedue. Between frantic kisses he said again, “Okay.” 

Dedue wrapped his arms fiercely around Ashe and pulled him flush against his body, clinging desperately to his back. He kissed Ashe full and deep, trying to get through every intention, everything he failed to say, every apology and worry and absolute love he felt for the man. 

“I’ll be there,” Ashe said. “I’ll be there the whole time.” 

Dedue nodded again, leaned in for more again, greedy for Ashe again. He hoped Ashe could taste the remnants of the tashen and could taste what was special and unique to Dedue. 

He tried to speak but could only hold Ashe and hoped it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagined tashens to be some kind of amalgamation between a hammentashen and a beignet with puff pastry laminations? Its a made up imaginary food :V 
> 
> Hopefully in a couple of more chapters we'll get something a little happier again. Dang I didn't realize how heavy these chapters got when I outlined them. Sorry about that. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone who's still reading :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	19. Mock Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crashing of the two worlds. Everything that built up Dedue, made him who he was. His past, his present. Duscur, HKF. 
> 
> Ashe. 
> 
> It felt right. It felt correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy okay here we go 
> 
> couple of more sad sack chps left

A new aroma filled every crevice of the kitchen. A symphony of smell that all worked in harmony with one another. The kitchen filled with a heat that was typical of mid service, but HKF had yet to open. 

Dedue stood at a station that wasn’t his, cooking food that belonged to no one else. The kitchen was littered with plates and dishes, meals that were half way through the process, ingredients waiting to be used. Experimentation that had been vetted out and the new ones kept popping up. A frenetic energy that worked under the cool calm surface of its cook. 

He worked two pans at once before leaning over to deal with another he had been babysitting. The oven was double stacked and he knew if there was to be dessert then a second would have to be employed. It was terribly inefficient, a waste of space, but on that particular morning he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Ashe stood at his side, working functionally as his sous. He was whisking batter that would go on top of the burbling stew and smiled up at Dedue. A soft laugh and a tuck of his chin and he whisked harder. 

That morning he had brought tashens to Dedue’s doorstep, Dedue was revved. He was ecstatic. He was ready to go into the kitchen and start prepping Duscur food and nothing but. Ashe managed to convince him to give it a couple of days, gather ingredients, brainstorm a menu. Dedue agreed it was the best path to take and they had spent the past couple of days discussing it. 

A flood gate had been opened up. Recipes that Dedue had forgotten, techniques he had spent those early years in the kitchen watching. New ideas that bounced off one another, sparking more innovation, that slid from Duscur, but their heart was there. 

No longer adhering to convention, Dedue was creating without inhibition. 

He had a sneaking suspicion that one of the reasons why Ashe asked him to wait a couple of days was to see if it was really what Dedue wanted. If he hadn’t been swept up in the moment, caught up in the exhilaration of the onslaught of emotion. The snap decision he had made that gray morning. 

Dedue could understand his hesitancy. After months upon months of subtly begging Dedue to open up, to cook for Duscur, quiet little looks and moments where he stalled all the way to the explosive demands, only to be so thoroughly knocked down, Ashe wanted to make sure Dedue was sure. That he wasn’t caught up in the moment. 

He could see the way Ashe watched him, tentative and careful. Gentle, like handling a glass figurine, even if the glass figurine was two heads taller than him. Even that morning in the kitchen, he still eyed Dedue, silently questioning _’are you sure?’_

Dedue appreciated it. He appreciated the attention, the consideration, how Ashe doted and worried about him. 

He was sure. 

“The vegetables smell done,” Dedue said, pointing with his ladle. 

“Yes chef,” Ashe said, setting aside the batter to attend to the pan on the other side. 

Dedue had insisted that Ashe did not have to call him chef that early in the morning, not while they were cooking the food of Dedue’s home. Ashe had insisted they were still in the kitchen and Dedue was still his head chef. 

A crashing of the two worlds. Everything that built up Dedue, made him who he was. His past, his present. Duscur, HKF. 

Ashe. 

It felt right. It felt correct. 

Ashe plated the medley, finely chopped up vegetables, some of a different origin, some domestic. All of them cooked to a fine char. Dedue immediately placed sea bass on top of it. It lacked the usual neat and orderly finesse and that made it more accessible, more beautiful. 

Ashe looked down at the dish with a broad smile on his face and hands on his hips. He looked up at Dedue, a pride and confidence glittering in his eyes. Alone in that kitchen, they could share that moment, a line that connected the two of them together, tethered without the need for physical touch. 

Dedue marinated in it, in the waft of the cooking. 

He cleared his throat and went back to the sauce he was babysitting, stirring it so it did not burn. 

“Batter,” was all he said. 

“Yes chef,” Ashe said, fluidly moving to action. As Dedue had shown him in the privacy of his own kitchen, Ashe dolloped the batter to the top of the stew, coating it in gentle lumps. 

Dedue had taught him how to do as such, as he had others. Wrapped around Ashe, hands on his wrists, guiding him like a puppet through the movements, even if he didn’t need such direction. 

They quickly lost focus that way. 

Working in their own quiet space, working side by side, they formulated a menu. It might not have been the menu that Dedue would serve to Edelgard, but it was a menu nonetheless. The idea that he would improvise the day of was appealing. A natural off the cuff fluidity that flowed through Dedue as he let all his secrets out onto the plate. Pulling from resources deep within his mind, both from home and his new home. 

The back door opened, breaking the near silence that was accented with burbling liquid. A conversation that had started outside the door came to an abrupt halt. As per usual, Mercedes and Annette stood in the door, letting the humidity and heat of the kitchen seep out into the humidity and heat of the outside world. 

Mercedes was the first to react. 

“What is that smell?” 

Nerves hit Dedue like a truck. The sudden reality that yes, he was going to share this intimate detail about himself with more than just Ashe came crashing down on him all at once. He tensed up, the grip on the ladle tightened. Enough for Ashe to notice with a quick jerk of his head. He could see Ash twitch, maybe to reach out, to rest a hand on him, to soothe him as he had before the walked in that morning, but they couldn’t. 

It would give them away. 

Annette pranced up to the pass, poking her head through the shelving under the powered down heat lamps. Her eyes wide and her smile a small v. She looked from Dedue’s creations and up to his face. 

“Whats that?” she asked, pointing to one of the finished dishes. A brilliant shade of green, too thick to be a soup, too thin to be a paste. 

Dedue shrugged. 

“Is it soup?” she asked. 

Dedue shrugged again. 

“Possibly,” he said. 

Annette gave him the same scowl she provided when Dedue had just said _’soup.’_ Soup, not soup, what did the woman want? 

“Is it for Edelgard?” Mercedes asked airly, coming to Annette’s side. 

Dedue didn’t have an answer for that either. In a way it was, in a way it wasn’t. He looked to Ashe for answers, to maybe answer for him. He just smiled and shrugged, offering up no solutions. 

Dedue faced his friends. 

“Its experimentation,” he said. 

Annette leaned all the way over the pass’ shelving, retsing her stomach on the steel, legs dangling in the air. She scooped up the green not-soup-not-paste and a spoon. Dedue barely saw her as a blur as she scooped up a spoonful and inserted it directly into her mouth. 

She froze. Her little smile disappeared. Her eyes went wide. Dedue could feel his pulse race all the way down to his fingertips. His eyes flicked to Ashe again and all he received in return was a quiet nod, a brief reassurance that he was fine, that everything was fine. 

Dedue believed him. 

“Wow,” Annette said through a spoonful of food. “I mean. . . wow!” 

She shoveled more into her mouth. 

“Wow, Mercy you gotta try this,” she said. 

Before she could answer, Annette shoved the spoon into Mercedes’ mouth, open to respond. A delicate little gag swelled around the spoon before Mercedes had the wherewithal to comprehend flavor. A gradual wave of recognition cascaded down Mercedes as she swallowed the concoction. 

“Oh,” she said, bringing a hand to her lips. “Oh Dedue. Thats. . .” 

Her eyes were slow to look up again, looking through the service slat of the pass. Dedue couldn't read her expression, a mish mash of emotion that all swirled until it achieved blank and open. 

“What is this?” she asked, looking for an explanation. A definition. Words to call what it was in her mouth. 

The recipe had no name, made off the cuff as a concoction of Dedue’s memories, experience, and knowledge. He had become so engrossed in creation that he hadn’t stopped to think about decorum. He turned to glance at Ashe, still occupied with his batter, and looking like he wasn’t involved. Those big green eyes flitted to him anyways, the restrained smile fighting on his lips. Dedue steeled himself and turned back to his food, not acknowledging his coworkers. 

“Its from Duscur,” was all he said. 

Simple, but so very complicated. 

The moments stretched out before Dedue. He could feel the distance between his head and his body, swimming with a vertigo like effect, stretched out like a helium balloon. A tingling anticipation that was akin to sleeping limbs. Patience drawn out for an eternity as he waited for revulsion or acceptance or, the very worst, pity. 

The waiting was the hardest part. 

“Really?” Annette was the first to break it, not a second later, despite the millenia it took in Dedue’s mind. “Are all these Duscur recipes?” 

Dedue’s heart thudded and his throat closed up. His hand had begun to stiffen and the finely chopped celery was begging to burn in the fat. 

“Or Duscur inspired,” Ashe said, leaning forward. 

He couldn’t place a hand on Dedue’s back, couldn’t take his wrist, or gently pull him away where he could be safe, but his boyfriend did have other ways of taking the reins, taking charge, and taking the focus off Dedue. 

“Duscur adjacent,” Annette said. “Can we try that one?” 

“Try this one,” Ashe said, passing over a completely plated dish. Mise en place completely disregarded in favor for something more rustic, more homey. Something looking more like what Dedue’s mother would have put in front of him. 

He had made the dish for Ashe multiple times, often at the other’s behest. A favorite of both of them. 

“Hraime,” Ashe said, getting the accent right. “Its a little spicy.” 

“I like spicy,” Mercedes said, digging a spoon in. “Is that fish?” 

Annette’s careful stare singed on the side of Dedue’s neck. Her eyes narrowed, looking from one of them to the next. 

“How long have you known about this?” she asked Ashe, each word enunciated like a threat. 

“Oh you know,” Ashe said with a little shrug, a little smile, a little glance at Dedue. “I’ve been staying late and chef showed me a couple of things.” 

“Uh huh,” Annette entoned with not enthusiasm. 

Ashe being at his side as Dedue altered every perception about him, let secrets fly free across stove tops, was a sure fire giveaway to the nature of their relationship. That it at least went past something professional into something more personal. If it didn’t raise flags about their relationship being more of a _relationship_ , it would at the very least appear to be closer than employee/boss. 

Annette’s silent warning was enough of that. 

But Ashe being at his side steadied Dedue. He would risk career sabotage for that anchor any day. 

“Oh my gosh,” Mercedes said through a mouthful of good. “Oh goodness. Oh dear.” 

“Are you doing alright there Mercedes?” Ingrid said. She stepped in through the door, examining the room with hawk like eyes, taking in new scents and sights and colors that were foreign to HKF. A sensory overload of information that the sous chef was working quick to process. 

She pointed to the hraime with her spoon, jabbing it in the air and at the delicate fish, half eaten and half flaked into the red sauce. 

“Come here Ingrid,” Mercedes said, mouth still pocketed with the raging heat. “Come here and try this.” 

As more and more of Dedue’s staff came milling in, as the clock turned to shift start and Cyril was marching through the door, Dedue could feel himself crawling deeper and deeper into himself. He focused on the food and only the food, working silently through each dish like a dance. Pulling half finished baked goods from the oven to be finished in oil. A medley of dishes, all of which could be considered as a main course. Lost in his mind. If he were to stop, then he would simply lay down on the floor, spent and useless. 

“Chef!” Caspar crowed, a mouth full of the dumpling laden stew. He pounded on Dedue’s back in quick percussion. “Chef chef chef this is amazing!” 

“Why don’t we do something like this on the regular menu?” Linhardt said, looking alert as he swirled rice noodles around a fork. 

“That would be a drastically different clientele,” Mercedes said airly. A soft sad lilt to her voice. “It would be a very different shift from what our usual base is expecting. And I don’t have the research needed to potentially service this to what market and what venue.” 

Next to Dedue, Ashe drummed his fingers on the steel prep tables. He had stopped cooking, covering all the requirements of Dedue’s sous and having not received further commands. 

He wasn’t surprised that his unknown recipes were immediately shut down. Foreign foods were a niche market, no matter how sentimentally attached their head chef was to them. Still, it stung. An anxious pang in his heart at the finally spoken news that _his_ food held no place in the modern world. 

“Aw man come on,” Caspar whined. “Why does business have to get in the way of everything?” 

“Everything that makes money is business, Caspar,” Mercedes said. 

“Yeah but this is _art_.” 

Linhardt groaned out of exasperation and a little bit of noodle slid from the corner of his lips. 

“Not this again,” he said. 

“Hey!” Caspar pointed a stiff finger to his friend. “You keep your logic far _far_ away from all this.” 

He swirled his hands wide in the air, hovered over Dedue’s creations, both finished and half finished. Dedue smiled to himself, the trickling ants marching race that palpitated his heart surging through his veins, overwhelming with all different flavors of attention that he hadn’t been fully prepared for. 

“You’re making this for Edelgard right?” 

Ingrid’s voice was an even temperament that shot through the noise of the kitchen like a lance, bringing silence in its wake. His sous had done slight tastings here and there, but otherwise was not indulging in the food the way the others had. Quiet and contemplative. If it wasn’t for the attention he received from everyone else in the room, Dedue would have been more aware, more anxious of her ever grinding mind. 

Memories of their first introductions from school still poisoned Dedue from time to time. That brief period of time where Ingrid wouldn’t meet his eyes, the microaggressions that slipped from her lips with ease. Behaviour of someone who’s thoughts towards Duscur were unfavorable and unsavory. Freeloading parasites that took up space and jobs, where the sympathy of their plight was grossly outweighed by the deep seated desire to achieve ones own space in the world without any hindrance from uprooted countries. 

She had never said as much out loud, but it was the same airs Dedue received from people who did. Over time, the mood had passed and Ingrid had come to appreciate Dedue, in her own way. Dedue would never ask her if she had truly been prejudiced since their first meeting, if she had changed her world view since knowing him or simply thought of him as one of the ‘good ones.’ 

Dedue didn’t want that answer. 

It seemed those old wounds were freshly scraped across Ingrid’s face once again, a secret shame hidden in the grinding of her jaw. Dedue couldn’t quite read how she accepted the food. Arms crossed tight against her chest, jaw grinding in the opposite direction. 

She jabbed a finger at the remains of the hraime. 

“You’re serving this to Edelgard,” she said with finality. 

That had always been the plan, for days now it had been the plan, but Ingrid said it with such confidence that there was no ignoring her command. As if she had known long before Dedue had what was going to happen. It had been some time since Ingrid had been able to give _Dedue_ marching orders and not the other way around. 

“This is a mock!” Annette said, clapping her hands together. 

“Everyone stop eating!” Mercedes announced, rushing to her office. “Dedue, make some more. I’m calling DImitri.” 

Reality finally came crashing down on Dedue. Not the floating dissociation he had been riding through the hubbub of the morning, but a heavy weight that thunked his head back into the earth. The staff was one thing. 

Dimitri was another. 

Dimitri’s approval meant that it was finalized, that they had a menu of what they were going to do. 

Dimitri’s disapproval meant. . . 

“Ah, but. . .” Dedue raised a hand as if to stop her. 

A firm but gentle hand finally rested on his arm. A touch that brought him back to earth, to where it was safe and calm. A touch that would give them away, but Dedue was thankful for. 

He didn’t care who saw. 

Ashe smiled up at him, his hand hidden low where fingers brushed against Dedue’s wrist, rubbing in soothing circles just once. The picture of stability. 

Dedue breathed out slow and shaking. It wasn’t as if he had much choice. Mercedes had already disappeared into her office and was probably already on the phone. The decisions having already been made for him. 

Dedue was thankful for that hand on his wrist, even as it slid away. Thankful for the man who stood on his doorstep and admitted he was wrong, apologized, and returned Dedue’s agency to him. Even if it was spiraling out of control once he set it free. 

Dedue cleared his throat. 

“Ashe,” he said. “Pull out the big pan and put on some couscous.” 

“Yes chef!” Ashe said, picking up the specialty equipment from the bag on the floor. 

Absolutely no professional work proceeded to get done. There was some facsimile of prep going on, but with Dedue and Ashe dominating near half of the kitchen, it was pointlessly fruitless. There was idle conversation as the rest of the staff stood around, watching techniques they hadn’t learned in culinary school. 

No one asked where Ashe had picked them up, no one probed or pried. It seemed the assumption that Ashe had absorbed the new knowledge through mere osmosis was accepted fact. He was there early with chef after all, and quick to pick up on new things. It only made sense. 

Dimitri was in HKF’s dining room in less than half an hour. The room was barren, the lights flicking on when he arrived, and his lone silhouette was lead to his normal tasting seat by an Annette shaped shadow. He sat down, looking around the room, and gave Dedue a little wave. Dedue nodded his head, sure that his boss couldn’t see it through the frosted glass. 

More thought went into the plating on the second time around, although it still wasn’t the overwrought precious composition that he normally held for HKF. Less mother made and more chef, but still too sloppy for magazine level photography.

Before he could give the go ahead, Annette was at the pass, scooping up the plates and bowls Dedue had put there, with a small saucy smile and her back against the door. 

Nerves had never been quite so suffocating as they were in those moments. Watching the head waitress gently set out a spread in front of his boss, waiting on an answer that Dedue suddenly knew he could live a lifetime without knowing. The dish he worked on was in the beginning stages of an acrid char and Dedue could feel Ashe’s worry next to him, but he couldn’t look away. 

The frosted glass obscured far too much detail for Dedue to make out exactly what it was that Dimitri was doing, when he smelled the food or lifted it to taste. There was no access to the minute facial expressions that gave away whether it was good or bad or foul or spoiled or exuberant. The sounds of the kitchen pared down and all Dedue could hear was the sizzle of his pan like a 5 o’clock alarm. His arm slackened and the handle dipped, the pan coming to a full rest on the burner. His heart rattled in its ribcage and he could hear how loud he was breathing. 

The world dropped out as he waited for the man he owed so much of his life to pass judgement. 

Dimitri got up in a sudden rush and even from the kitchen the rattle of plates knocking against one another could be heard. He stalked to the doors in a great storm and threw open the doors. The warpath evident on his face, a broken expression akin to rage, aimed at Dedue. 

He took a harrowing breath in, ready to release vitriol and bile, but the cavalcade did not come down on Dedue. The fire in blue eyes seared through the kitchen, the same wide eyed determination from the child who reached a hand into rubble and dragged Dedue out. 

Dimitri _seethed_. 

The kitchen went as silent as a grave in the presence of their boss’ notorious rage. Waiting on the fountain of explosive tyranny to rain down upon them all. 

When it didn’t come, Dedue offered himself up as sacrifice. 

“What were your thoughts sir?” he asked. 

Dimitri’s eyes snapped wide and his mouth opened in shock. A reaction better suited for a gut punch than the banal question that Dedue had asked. He was quick to recover when the ferocious temper that was so often tucked away came out in full force. 

“Dimitri!” he shouted into the kitchen, leaving Dedue with only more questions than answers. “Dimitri! My name is Dimitri!” 

A prey caught in the sights of a large cat, hidden by night in the bushes. What had only been pinpricks in the darkness was the oncoming series of claws and jaws ready to rend. Dimitri walked around the prep tables into the bowels of the kitchen where only the chefs dared to dwell. 

“Dimitri!” he kept shouting. “DI-MI-TRI!” 

Dedue’s grip on the pan had tightened, shuddering from the force of his grip and shaking off the open flame. The ingredients were long gone, but at least the smoke alarms wouldn’t go off. And Dedue had a weapon if he needed, for self defense. 

Dimitri grabbed Dedue by the front of his chef’s jacket and nearly throttled him. 

“Dimitri!” he shouted one last time. 

Dedue didn’t move. If he moved then the predator would see him. It was best to play dead. To play still. To save his life he had to be frozen. He glanced to the side, looking for some way of explanation to his boss’ onslaught, but couldn't find rationale or reason. He swallowed heavily in fear. 

“Say it!” Dimitri shouted, shaking Dedue outright. 

“Dimitri,” Dedue said, afraid to disobey. 

“Again!” Dimitri snarled. 

“Dimitri.” 

“Again!!” 

“Dimitri!” 

The name felt odd on Dedue’s lips. He had said it before, only when referring to Dimitri to another, but to his face seemed blasphemous. That Dimitri deserved the utmost respect and anything less would be inadequate. Dimitri was to be followed and obeyed in all things. 

He had pulled Dedue from the rubble. He had given him a career path, given him opportunities where there would otherwise have been none. 

Dimitri saved his life. 

“Again,” Dimitri said, sounding like begging and heaving for breath. 

“Dimitri,” Dedue said feebly.

The anger and ire dissipated from Dimitri leaving behind a high pitched sigh as he sagged, still holding Dedue by the front of his jacket in tight fists. He hung his head, his bangs falling into his face, almost defeated. A tension that had been far too built up for far too long. He laughed in that manic bitter way that he got some times when something particularly troublesome had been annoying him. Lawyers dealing with his trust or Edelgard or zoning laws or all the way down to the delivery company messing up _once_. 

Never had it ever been directed at Dedue. 

“I never,” Dimitri snarled. “Want you. To call me _’sir’_. Ever. Again.” 

The conflict raged in Dedue like an eddy. The want to follow Dimitri’s order versus the want to respect him. 

“But–” 

“No!” Dimitri snarled, throttling Dedue again.

Dedue often towered over everyone and he sometimes forgot the height and strength and might that Dimitri possessed. 

“Don’t!” Dimitri’s voice broke. “Please don’t! Please!” 

His head hung again and he heaved for air, his body raking with it, shoulders pumping up and down. The grip he had on Dedue’s jacket slacked, but he was nowhere near letting go. 

“I was there too,” Dimitri said. “We went through something _together._ And I thought you–” 

Dimitri buried his face in a hand, leaning his other against Dedue. The force of him rocking Dedue against the prep table. 

“I thought you wanted to forget,” Dimitri said, pathetically soft in the way he would during the lonlier nights of their childhood. “I thought you wanted to. . . put it behind us and . . . move forward. I wanted to respect that but Dedue. . .” 

Dimitri’s head rose like a ghoul from a grave, face contorted into a pain that Dedue had never seen on the man before. Always so stoic and reserved, there were very few times Dedue saw Dimitri break. 

“I lost everything,” Dimitri said, his voice cracking. “ _Everything_ was taken from me. But you were there Dedue. You were there when I fell apart. You were there when I needed someone the most.”

Dimitri sounded like he was begging, pleading with Dedue for something. 

“You are my _friend_ , Dedue,” he said, exasperated. “We are _friends._ Do you think I’m doing all this for my health!?” 

He spread his arms out wide, indicating all of HKF. 

“I’m doing this because I believe in _you_. I believed we could create this _together._ Because you have a talent and you deserve the recognition and respect, what I feel for _you_ , from everyone else!”

Dimitri was a man unhinged. Desperate for something from Dedue, something that he was only beginning to piece together. 

“You were there when no one else was,” Dimitri said. “And I owe you everything for it.” 

The statement was one Dedue had said often of Dimitri. A sentiment that Dedue felt all the way down to his very core. Dimitri had been the one to save Dedue from the rubble. Dimitri had held his hand on the helicopter ride back to safety. Of course Dedue had been there for Dimitri on those nights when he woke up crying. 

Dedue owed everything to Dimitri. 

He owed everything to his friend. 

“I thought we went through that together,” Dimitri said. “I thought that we had. . . I had thought that you had wanted to put it behind us and I tried to follow suit. I tried to be strong like you. But here–” 

He swiped his hands in the air over the half eaten plates that peppered the stations like freckles across the kitchen. Over the still cooking pans and the freshly baked bread that had just come out of the oven. Over the pan still in Dedue’s hand. 

“You kept this from me?” Dimitri asked, painfully small. 

Dedue tried to remain resolute, unbreakable and solid in front of Dimitri. A calm surface to cover up the storm raging underneath. He wondered how long he had been doing that. Long enough that Dimitri had come to see him as a pillar to lean on. Someone he relied. Dedue had been blined to it up until that moment. 

“I was. . .” Dedue wanted to look around for help, for an answer, for Ashe to tell him he was doing right, but he couldn’t look away from Dimitri, too afraid that if he did the man would crumble or, worse, attack. 

In front of the threat of friendship, Dedue was on his own. 

“I was. . . scared,” he finally admitted, to no one but Dimitri. “I’m sorry, sir. . . Dimitri.” 

Dimitri flinched at the mess up, but his anger faded as quickly as it came. He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair, looking around the room. Seeing for the first time that they had an audience. He laughed once more, embarrassed and ashamed, but tinged with a sense of relief. That he had been holding back everything that had come exploding forth. 

“No I’m sorry,” Dimitri said. “You apologize for nothing.” 

It went against everything Dedue had built himself up to be, but for Dimitri he would. He nodded. 

“Will this do then?” he asked, feebly holding up the ruined remains of what he had failed to cook in the pan. 

“Will this–” Dimitri started laughing again, the mania bubbling out of him. “Will this do? Dedue. With this, we’ll not only scare her out of opening up here, she’ll never want to show her face again.” 

Dimitri gripped Dedue’s arm tight enough to cut off blood circulation. 

“Take the bitch down,” he said. 

The stillness of the kitchen was one that would have been seen in the early hours of the morning. When Dedue used to come in alone, to make his recipes alone, to revive Duscur by himself. A large piece of himself that he had been content to keep hidden for the remainder of his life. But with it splayed out wide, his soul laid bare, and not only accepted but encouraged, that stillness permeated throughout the kitchen. 

It wasn’t about Edelgard. It wasn’t about HKF. It was about that one decision that one boy had to extend his hand and help Dedue up. 

And it had been about the choice Dedue had made to be helped. 

Dedue nodded. 

“Woo!” Caspar shouted from the corner, both hands in the air. He slow clapped. No one else joined in, but that didn’t seem to deter him. The sound of it ushering back in the real world, taking both Dimitri and Dedue back to reality. 

Dedue sighed around the knot in his chest and the swirl in his mind. He cleared his throat, looking over his staff and seeing nothing but blurs of shadow. Stepping back to where he was meant to be, his position in the kitchen, brought him a sense of purpose. A place. 

“Thats enough,” Dedue said, trying to find his footing. “Clean up. We’re already behind on prep.” 

“Aw man,” Caspar whined. 

“What was that?” Dedue asked, finally finding his voice again. 

“Yes chef!” his kitchen called back. 

Annette was the first to usher Dimitri out of the kitchen, placating him with _’no restaurant owners allowed during prep’_. Dimitri fell back into his usual charismatic self, looking over his shoulder to Dedue as he was all but shoved out of the kitchen. Dedue gave him a curt nod, hoping to look natural, and knowing it wasn’t. Knowing that something fundamental shifted in their relationship. 

He knew it was good. 

Dedue shut off the burner with a sound click and started on his own cleanup. The ever present shadow at his side slid in close, still keeping his distance. 

Ashe wasn’t looking anywhere but Dedue, clutching a mixing spoon in both hands, his eyes wet and wide but restrained and held back. Pride emanating from his every pore. 

Dedue couldn’t look at him. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He breathed in deep, trying to steady the palpitation of his heart, the oncoming pangs that jut between his ribs, the mass in his mind of no coherent thought. Trying to be himself again. 

He couldn’t stop the small twinge at the corners of his lips. The oncoming smile that dared to break through his facade. 

“Back to work,” he ordered. 

Ashe didn’t immediately move. He seemed rooted in the spot. He took a deep breath in but forgot to let it out, his small frame swelling with restraint. 

Dedue shot him a glance and managed to keep his hands to himself. 

“Later,” he promised both of them. 

Ashe nodded vigorously and put down the spoon. He cleared his throat and turned his eyes to the mess in front of him, mimicking Dedue in concentrations. 

“Yes chef,” he said and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next chp. . . there will be smut :V 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I did research for this :I 
> 
> Its gonna take a bit before I earn that E rating, but it'll come. . .
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


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